;■ “J

/,

OF THE BRAVE

POEMS OF CHIVALRY, ENTERPRISE
COURAGE AND CONSTANCY

PROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT DAf

SELECTKD AND ARRANGED BV

FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE, M.A., D.Litt.

CAROK OF LIMERICK

** Attend, ye ^bo Ust to heir oor noble Eoglmd’e ptzht i
I (eli of the tbrice-famoui detde she Mrroogbt i& andtot d»>’a"

MacauI-av

FOUKTi! EDITI
revised and RE'CLASSIFIED, WI

QiT^l

METH
36 ESS

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The Story of Bayard, Founded on the Histolre du hon Che-
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the ttlrritiE indienlt of bit Ufe txt *s ’cceU Imown to yonng people aM cthert
IS they nught be. Thisrdate* briedy tod lightly hJs Hfe-itory, Uieonot only
from the pages of French history, but tUo in Rreal tneitort from ttc cairttlon
of bis ftluifnl tcrvtnt tod biogrtphtr. the hoyml Servitcur,*' who docs tuen
justice not only to the Tomantic tela, bnt to the noble chtracttr, of the
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This tomtnee deals with the crxjttde of tens of tbotjsands of ebUdron to
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plot by the “ Old Man of the Mountain *’ to tecure t number of Chrislitn
j’oatha. Thontands of the thildfen arrived at MarscOJeSj eipectlng ibe sea to
open, tni many ulUmattly embtxUng, wtre taken to Africa and told into
sit very.

The whole sten* is set tgtlnst t background of bisiory— the cinirrel be*
twees Otto IV and the Pope, (be mission of St. Francis of Assisi to Damietti,
the CTjttrt of Otto*! successor, Frederick 11. There is contemporary evidtate,
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PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION

I MUST not call this edition of “BaUttSs of the
Brave ” a new book, but certainly it is not the old
one. ^

To begin with, the poems, hitherto arranged in un-
broken sequence of time, ai-e now grouped according to
their spirit and purpose ; thus, while maintaining Avithin
their several sections due chronological order, affording
relief from monotony and facility in reference.

Since the collection, while appealing to all, young or
old, who love the spirit of chivahy and gay adventui-e,
is yet specieiUy designed for the use of boys, I had
better say a word as to that particular service.

While holding fast to my original belief that, if you
wish to please a boy’s poetical palate, you must give
him songs about swoids and ships, not about primroses
and pet lambs, I have modified my views as to the de-
gree up to which his taste should be regarded. In
earlier editions of this book, I think I was too compla-
cent;' I gave the boy too much blood and thunder, and
hot always blood of the noblest vein or thunder from
the bravest forga Now, while follovdng, I tiy to guide,
his natmul instincts. Browsing in these pastures, any
boy, I hope, will learn the relish of true literature. But
I would not have him turned out to graze all un watched :
I would have him gently turned towards the thymy
banks and the clover beds.

vi DALL.^T>S OF 'JllR BIlAVi'.

Deixlinp, as inuvitahjy, l!)C'« pngf'' .'>xrpety do, wih
bnUlc nnd x-iolenl dci-xls’ uiijild Iviul, if Ii'ft qintx-
to tlienisclvca, to footer somethin- of n spirit of pop-
nndtv. I trust Hint older pc-ov.V having smrveillnitfe of
nbovR reading will iry to male him feel wherein figiding
is good and wherein evil, wmiing nnt that the daring, the
duty, the devotion, of t hi soldier may move our prai-e and
team, while tlic war it-cif movea only our indignant
shame. Again, a toy should lie taught to feel Utemiy
symfWiUiy apart from nmml approval. Tiie fnmt-t
hater of Kiijif Clmrles the I'livl should love the gallant
jingle cavalier lyric*, and his most devoted ad-

herent fuould rejoice in the tidal Ilow of Maeaulay's
“Battle of Nasoby,'' the one good lighting thing done
in verso on the Uoundhead sioe. All Ihc-e poems n re
savage and ferocious, but tlicy arc faithful memorial)* of
a savage and ferocious fond ; their literary' .spirit is ft'
fine as their moral spirit is ugly and dojiravtd.

And, once again, some of ns may su'jHa-l I he jiurily
of the morals of Imccancer* ; many think that high-
waymen had not all the right on theside of Uieir “Hands
up"; many even urge that pugilists nerv rough and
sometimes shifty too ; but we sh.all lx; very .sUnit pre-
cisians if we refuse ourselves the delight of hlcrmy sym-
pathy when Charles Kingsley, Alfred Soye-. nnd'Counn
Doyle sing of the pleasant Isle of Avi'-s, of Bendy’s
^'eimoii, with its strenuously personal application, and
of the gallant girl who gave her life to save her plunder-
ing lover.

But one must not be led to think that nil the deeds
of cliivalry and courage arc made to tun ngninsi the
moral grain. There is a large margin of daring that
was devoHon ; of courage that was Christly : wo have
the hospital nurse here and the niartvx, and the rougli
man, perhaps outside all Christian fo'lds, who yet went
one long stop with the Founder of them all, and laid
down nu life for his friends.

On reading through these poems 1 have stumhled

PREFACE

vii

very often over a difficulty — philological or syntactical.
Very often I have been at sea about a locality, a name,
or a circumstanca Really one’s ignorance is more com-
prehensive and catholic than one is at all disposed to
believe ; one does not understand half the things that
go mthout explanation. To put my readers in a better
position than that in which I found myself, I have
hunted out refei'ences and allusions, and have left, I
hope, few difficulties without an attempt at their solu-
tion. The wise must bear the burden' of the simple
and pardon needless notes.

The criticisms of style and metrical effect are meant
mainly for older readers, but some young ones, I hope,
will take the trouble to read them. Receive tiie heart
of oxm song into yoim own ; have its beat in your blood,
its breath in your lungs, its movement in your limbs ;
and you are not far from inheriting the 'divine kingdom
of poetry. But you cannot understand life wiQiout
-studying anatomy; to feel song you must meddle with
metre ; for poetiy, like the poet, is made as well as
bom. Against the detestable sacrilege, strangely com-
mon among anthologists, of breaking up poems, of
omitting stanzas and of altering titles, I have borne my
humble testimony by printing everything as the author
left it ; only once or twice have I permitted myself to
give less than a whole poem.

During the two and twenty years that have elapsed
since the first issue of this book many things have
happened, favourably to its present purposa The
expiration of the copyright oi much of the work of
Tennyson, Browning, Kingsley, and others has made me
- free of golden orchards watched hitherto by stem, if
courteous, dragons. I have not neglected to shake the
pippins doivn. Also new stars have arisen since 1889 :
they shed a briUiant lustre over the later pages of this
book. In the realm of narrative poetiy — in the gallant
trick of telling a story, in the spirit of high adventure,
the delight of action, the joy of generous blood, and in

viii

BALLADS OF THE BUAVE

all the proud craftsmanship of verse — Kipling, Newbolt
and Noyes are very hard to beat. Many of their splen-
did things are here, for all men to admire.

Those two and twenty crowded years have given us,
too, a wider sky, a new realm of sport and adventure, a
clearer national voica All these things, I am glad to
think, are present in this book, and make a braver air.

The word “Ballads" in my title is used for poems
with a story. There is no substitute, 1 think, that is
not either cumbersome or flat.

In one other regard I should like to say a deprecating
word. This book must not be judged os an anthology
pure and simple. Besides the purpose of assembling
the masterpieces of chivolric verse, there have been the
purposes of linking an historical chain, and of covering,
as far as might be, the whole field of bravery. Those
purposes have involved once and again the opening of
my gates to the best that came. For some small thmgs
of my own, I can only say that they are reluctant and
trembling volunteers, only too willing to fall out of the
ranks if better blood will fall in.

I finish my work with a sense of proud wonder at our
inheritance of noble verse. Nowhere in the fields of
English poetry can one live awhile without surprise at
its revelations of splendour ; but in none of its fields
are its glories so rich, so various, so much our own, as
in this, for the very spirit which has made our world-
wide England has inspired and shaped these “Ballads
of the Brave ”.

FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE

St, John's Rfctohv, Limerick.
27 January, igti.

In respect of most of the copyright poems reproduced
in this book the Editor’s obligations have been recorded
in earlier editions.

With regard to the present edition his grateful
acknowledgments are due to the following Authois,
Representatives of Authors, and Publishers : the Most
Rev. William Alexander, D.D., and the Proprietors of
“ The Times ” for No. i.xxx ; Mr. Alfred Austin, poet
laureate, and Messrs. lilacmillan & Co. for No: cxlvi;
Mr., George Barlow for Nos. i.xxxm, cxun, and csxv;
Mr. Joseph Baron for Nos. cxyrn and cxxvii; !Mr. J.
Stewart Bowles and Lord Montagu of Beaulieu for No.
oxsin ; Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for Nos. xlix and ci.vn ;
Dr. J. A. Goodchild for No. xv ; J-Ir. Thomas Hardy for
No. Lxxxii ; Messi-s. Longmans, Green, & Co. for No.
cuir, by the late Miss Jean Ingelow ; the Trustees of
the late William Morris and Messrs. Longmans, Green,
and Co. for Nos. xx and Lxxxvn ; the Houghton Mifflirr
Company, Boston, for No. Lxvi, by the late E. C.
Stedman, No. Lxvn, by the late Mr's., Julia Ward Howe,
and No. clxi, by the late Johrr ' Hay ; Mr. Coulson
Remahan for Nos. cxir, cxtii, c^xvni ; Mr. Rudyard
Kipling and Messi's. Methuen & Co., Ltd., for Nos.
Lxxrx, cv, cxxxix, cxLvri; Mr. Andrew Lang for No.
cxxvr; Mr. Andrew Lang and Messrs. Smith, Elder
and Co. for No. lxxtui ; Miss Alice Milligan and Messrs.
Maunsel & Co., Ltd., Dublin, for No. cxxxv ; Mr.
H. J. Newbolt, for Nos. cxxrx and cxl ; Mr. Wilfrid
Meynell, for No. cxxv', by tire late Francis Thompson ;

ii

X

BALLADS OP THE BRAVE

the Representati\’es of the ]ate Mi\ B. F. JIuiTay, for
No. cxix ; Mr. Alfred Noyes, for Nos. cxvni and cltv ;
Mr. T. W. Rolleston and Messrs, Maunsel & Co., Ltd.,
Dublin, for No. csxii ; Messrs. G. Iloutledge & Sons, Ltd.,
for No, LXXXT, by Frederick Langbridge; l\Ir. Owen
Seaman and the Proprietors of “ Punch ” for Nos. cxxiv
and cxLiv ; Messrs. Chatto and Windus for No. cxxx,
by the late R. L Stevenson; "Touchstone” for No.
cxvT ; and Mj. Theodore Watte-Dunton for No. xxxvii.

CONTENTS

BATTLES LONG AGO

TAOn

1. A Battle before Troy

Homrr’j'Mliad". Tr.byyl.S. lEay i

II. The Trojans Keep Vigil

Homer's •‘Iliad”. Tt. by Lord Tettnyson 3

III. The Arming ofAchillestJfomrr’j** Iliad”. Tr. by Pope 3

IV. The Destruction of Sennacherib . . Lord Byron 4

V. Song of Saul before his last Battle . Lord Byron 5

VI. Horatius Lord Macaulay 6

VII. Boadicea William Coxoper 24

VIII. Sohrab and Rustum . . . Matthexo Arnold 25

POEMS OF THE ARTHURIAN ROMANCE

IX. Sir Launcclot and Guinevere . . . Lord Tennyson 28

X. Sir Galahad Lord Tennyson 30

' XL Morte D’Arthur Lord Tennyson 32

THE PAGEANT OF THE YEARS

Xli. The Death of William the Conqueror

Felicia Dorothea Hemans 40

XIII. He Never Smiled Again Felicia Dorothea Hemans 42

XIV. The Norman Baron Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 43

XV. A Ballad of the Crusades . . yohn A. Qaodchild 45

XVI. Bruce to his Men at Bannoclibum . Robert Bunts 47

XVII. Coronach Sir Walter Scott 48

FORAY, FIELD, LOVE, AND TOURNEY

XVIII. The Moor Calaynos

Spanish Ballad. Tt. by yohn Gibson Lockhart 49
XIX. A Ballad of Roncesvalles Felicia-Dorothea Hemans 55

xl

BALLADS OF THE BRAVE

xii

XX. Sbameftil Death .

XXI. La Belle Dame sans Merd
XXII. Keith of Ravelston

XXIII. Branksome Hall .

XXIV. The Coinhat

PAOE

’William Morris 57
. yohn Keats 58
. Sydney Dobell 60
Sir Walter Scott 61
Sir Walter Scott 63

XXV. Montrose's Love Song - ,

yames Graham, Margins of Montrose 05
XXVI. To Althea from Prison . . Richard Lovelace 66

XXVII. A Weary Lot is Thine, lair Maid Sir Walter Scott 67

XXVIII. Crei^y Francis Turner Palgrave 68

XXrX BatUe of Otterboume .... Old Ballad 69
XXX. The Red Harlau- . . . Sir Walter Scott 74

XXXI. King Henri' the Fifth’s Speech before Aginconrt

William Shakespeare 75
XXXII. The Battle of Aginconrt . . Michael Drayton 76

XXXIII. Pibroch of DonaU Dho . . Sir Walter Scott So

XXXTV. The Fall of Wolsey . . IVilJiam Shakespeare 81

SONGS OF THE ARMADA

XXXV. The Armada .... Lord Macaulay 83

XXXVI. Elizabeth at Trlbuti' . Francis Turner Palgrave 86
XXXVIL David Gwynn’s Story of How he and the Golden
Skeleton Crippled the Armada Sailing out

Theodore Watts-Dmion 88

XXXVIII. Ivry ...... Lord Macaulay 94

CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD

XXXIX The Cavaliers’ March to London Lord Macaulay gg
XL. Cavalier Tunes

Marching Along ; Give a Rouse; Boot and Saddle

Robert Brcnrning lOi
XLI. To Lucasta, on Gomg to the IVars Richard Lovelace 103
XLII. The Battle of Naseby . . Lord htacaulay 103

XLIII. The Execution of Montrose

William Edmonstoune Aytoun 106
XLIV. Bonny Dandee .... Sir Walter Scott irz
XLV. The Burial March of Dundee

William Edmonstoune Aytoun 114
.^LVL M^ly Gilliland . . . Sir Samuel Ferguson 119

XLVII. The Song of the Western Men

. T, _ Robert Stephen Haakcr 123

'^VIII. A Ballad of Sarsficld, or The Bursting of the Guns

Aubrey de Vere 124

ENGLAND AND EUROPE

cirthur Conan Doyle 126
tV • • Robert Southey sag

LI. Paul Reveie’s Rrde Henry Wadsccorth Longfelloi 131

CONTENTS

xiii

PAOE

Lll. The Battle of Hohcnlindcn, . Thomas Campbell 135
LIII. The Battle of the Baltic . . Thomas Campbell 136

LIV. Thoughts of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzer-
land .... william Wordsuorth 138
LV. The Soldier’s Dream . . . Thomas Campbell 139

. LVI. Trafalgar .... Francis Turner Palgrave 139
LVII. The Burial of Sir John Moore . . Charles Wolfe 143

LVIII. Incident of the French Camp . Robert Browning 144
LIX. The Mameluke Charge Sir Francis Hastings Doyle 145
LX. The Field of Waterloo . . . Lord Byron 147

■ LXI. The Isles of Greece .... Lord Byron 149

THE FIELDS OF THE CRIMEA

LXII. Alma .... Richard Chevcnix Trench 153
■LXIII. The Charge of the Light Brigade .Lord Tennyson 155
LXrV. The Fifth of November at Inkermann Gerald Massey 156
LXV. Santa Filomena . Henry Wadssaorth Longfellow 161

“UNION AND LIBERTY I ONE EVERMORE ’’

LXVI. How Old Brown Took Harper’s Ferry

Edmund Clarence Stedman 164
LXVII. Battle Hymn of the Republic . yulia Ward Howe 169
LXVIII. Barbara Frietchie . . yohn Qreenlcaf Whittier 171

LXIX. A Sight in Camp .... Walt Whitman 173

LXX. Dirge for Two Veterans . . Walt Whitman 174

LXXI. Bivouac on a Mountain Side . Walt Whitman 175

LXXII. John Bums of Gettj'sburg . . Francis Bret Harte 175

LXXIII. The Last of the Red Men . William Cullen Bryant 178

LATTERDAY FIELDS AND HEROES

LXXIV. Before Sedan Austin Dobson 181

LXXV. The Last Redoubt .... Alfred Austin 182
LXXVI. The Saving of the Colours

Sir Francis Hastings Doyle 184

LXXVII. Colonel Burnaby Andrew Lang 187

LXXVIII. On the Death of Genera! Gordon . Ernest Myers i88
LXXDf. “ Furzy-Wuzzy ”... Riidyard Kipling 190
LXXX. Is War the Only Thing that has no Good in it?

William Alexander, D.D. 192
LXXXI. Pat at Glencoe . . . Frederick Langbridge 194

LXXXII. Hodge, the Drummer . . . Thomas Hardy 195

LXXXIII. The Battle of the Sea of Japan . . George Barlow 196

siv BALLADS OF THE BRAVE

SONGS OF SEA-FARING

TMt

LXXXtV. Yc Mariners of England . . Thomas CamfbtH igj

LXXX\'. The Crew of the l-onB Serpent

Htr.ty Wadsworth LonfJ^tllow igg
LXXXVI. The Sea-King’s Grave . . Sir Rmiell Rodd aot
LXXXN’'!!. The Sailing of the Sword .

LXXXVIII. Sit Patrick Spens .... Old Ballad 204
LXXXIX. The Last Bnccaniet . . . Charles Ktngslty ‘^oi

XC. The Loss of the Rojnl George William Cooler aog
XCI. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea

Allan Cunntitghani 210
XCn. Tom Bowling .... Charles Dibdin 211

XCin. Poor Jack .... Charles Dibdsn 212

XCIV. The Capuin Stood on the Carronade

Captain .Tlnng'Oi 213
XCV. The Sailor’s Consolation . . Charles Dibdin (?1 214

XCVI. The Sea Brjait Waller Procter {Barry Comtrall) 215

XeVIL The Captain Lord Tennyson ai6

XCVm. The Admiral’s Ghost . . . Alfred Kayes 218

XCIX. Old Ironsides . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 221

C. The Wreck of the Hcsperas

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 222
CL The Birkenhead . . . yohn A. Goodchild 223

OIL The Betsy Jane .... Sydney Dobell 229
cm. The Three Fishers . . . Charles Kingsir)' 230

CIV. The Lifeboat .... George Robert Sims 231
CV. "Ihe Last Chantey . . . Rudyard Kipling 236

BOOT AND SADDLE, WILLOW AND LEATHER

CVI. The Find ..... Charles Kingsley
C\TI. 'The Galloping Sqahe . G. y. Whyte-iletoilte
CVIII. Ode to the North-East W/nd . Charles Kingsl0-
CIX. The Grave of the Indian Chief

yames Gates Percival

CX. Hiawatha’s Hunting

Henry Wadssvorth Longfellow
CXL The Doncaster SL Legcr

Sir Francis Hastings Doyie
CXII. Of Skating .... Couison Kemahan
CXIII. With good Steel Ringing . . Conlson Kernahan

^ Couison Kemahan

CXV. The Taking of the Salmon Thomas Tod Stoddari
CXVI. The M^em Angler . . . ."Touchstone”

», • • Arthur Hugh Clough

CXVIIl. Ballade of Foote-Balle . . . Tosefik Baron

CXX. The Boat-Race . e.. H. Cholmondeler.PmnAl

» leOUison Kemahan
. ConhoH Kemahan
. Cculson Kemahan
Thomas Tod Stoddari
• . ** Touchstone'*

Arthur Hugh Clough
. . Joseph Baron
. , /v* F. Afwrmv
Chclmondeley^PenneJl

CONTENTS

XV ■

T/lOZ

CXXI. Forty Years On . . . . E. E. Bowen 265

CXXII. Cycling Song . ... T, IK. Rollesion 266

CXXIII. The Song of the Wheel . . y. Stewart Bowles 268

CJffilV. A Police Trap, or, The Renewal of Youth

Owen Seaman 269

eXXV. O my Hornby and my Barlow Long Ago 1

Francis Thompson 271
CXXVl. Ballade of Cricket .... Andrew Lang 272
CXXVII. The Ballade of the Slogger . . yoseth Baron 273

CXX^^III. Cricket Triolets . . . Cmilson Kernahan 274

CXXIX. Vital Lampada . . . Henry New bolt 275

eXXX. The Vagabond . . . R. L. Stevenson 276

CXXXI. “ Wlien Alt the World is Young, Lad "

. Charles Kingsley 277
CXXXII. Song of the Airman . . Frederick Langbridge 277

‘‘IRELAND, LITTLE IRELAND 1 ”

CXXXIII. Dark Rosaleen . . yames Clarence Mangan 279

CXXXIV. When He who Adores Thee . . T homos Moore zSz

CXXXV. Fainne deal an Lae . . Alice Milligan 282

“ENGLAND, RFY OWN”

CXXXVI. Green Fields of England Arthur Hugh Clough 285
CXXXVII. There’s a Land, a Dear Land . Charles Mackay 285
CXXXVIII, Home Thoughts, frorti the Sea Robert Browning 286
CXXXIX. The English Flag . , . Rudyard Kipling 286

CXL. Admiral Death .... Henry Newbolt 290

CXLL England's Dead . Felicia Dorothea Hemans 291
CXLII. The Name of England Felicia Dorothea Hemans 292
CXLIII. England, ho I for England , George Barlow 293

CXLIV, The Birthright of the Free . . Owen Seaman 294

CXLV. Song for the Boys of Britain . . George Barlow 296

CXLVL The Sceptre of the Sea . . . Alfred Austin 297

CXLVIL The Song of the Dead . . Rudyard Kipling zgS

SONGS OF SPLENDID DEEDS

CXLVIII. The Glove and the Lions . . Leigh Hunt 301

. CXLIX. Young Lochinvar . . . Sir Walter Scott 303

CL. The Great Heart of William Hunter

Frederick Langbridge 304
CLI. Cassandra Southwick . yohn Greenleaf Whittier 310
CLII. How they Brought the Good News from Ghent
• Robert Browmng 317

xvl

BALLADS OF THE BRAVE

TAOC

CLin. Winhtanley , ycnn [ii^elow 319

CLW. The Highwajman . . . . Alfred Koyei

CLV. Blind Boy's Bridge . . Frederick Lait!;bridge 332

CLVl. Casablanca . . . Felicia Dorothea Ilemanj 336

CLVII. Bend’s Sermon . . . Sir Arthur Conon Deiyle 337

CL\TII. The Patriot Robert Brotrniu^ 340

CLIX. The Prit'ate of the Buffs Sir Francis Hastings Doyle 341
CLX. Phil Blood’s Leap . . . Robert Buchanan 3<3

CLXI. Jim Bludso yohn Hay 352

CLXII. Prospice Robert Brotening 354

' CLXllI. The Ballad of East and West . Rudyard Kipling

CLXrV. The Conquest of the Pole . Frederick Langbridge 359

CLXV. The King’s Peace . . Frederick Langbridge 3O1

TABLE OF AUTHORS

Alexander, William, Archbishop (1824), lxxx,

• Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888), vin.

Austin, Alfred (1835), lxxv, cxlvi,

Aytoun, Wilh'am, Edmonstoune (1813-1865), xLiii, xlv.

Ballads, Old, xxix, lxxxviii.

Ballad, ^anish, xvui.

Barlow, George (1847), i-xxxm, cxLm, cxlv.

Baron, Joseph (1859), cxvui, cxxvn.

Bowles, George Stewart (1877), cxxiii.

Bowen, Edward Ernest (1836-1901), cxxi.

Browning, Robert (1812-1889), xl, lviii, cxxxviji, clii, clvhi, clxh.
Bryant, William Cullen (179^-1878), lxxiil
Buchanan, Robert Williams (1841-1901), clx.

Bums, Robert (1759-1796), xvi.

Byron, Lord (George Gordon) (1788-1824), iv, v, nx, lxi.

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), lii, liii, lv, lxxxiv.

Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-186^, cxvii, cxxxvi.

Cornwall, Barry (Bryan Waller Procter) (1787-1874), xcvi.

Cowper, William (1^1-1800), vii, xc.

Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842), xcn

De Vere, Aubrey, Thomas (1814-1892), XLViir.

Dfbdin, Charles (1745-1814), cxn, cxiii, cxv.

Dohell, Sydney (1824-1874), xxii, cn.

Dobson, Henry Austin (1840), nxxiv.

Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan (1859), xlk, clvii.

Doyle, Sir Francis Hastings (1810-1888), nix, lxxvi, cxi, clix.
Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), xxxii.

Ferguson, Sir Samuel (1810-1886), xlvi.

Goodchild, John Arthur, xv, ci.

Graham, James (Marquis of Montrose) (1612-1650), xxv.

6 xvil

xviii

BALLADS OF THE BBAVE

Hardy, Thomas (1840), Lxxxit.

Harte, Frands Bret (iSsg-tgoi). i.xxti.

Hawker, Robert Stephen (1805-1875), XL^^l.

Hay, John (1838-1905), clxi.

Heraan-s Felicia Dorothea (1794-1835), xii, xtit, xtx, cxLi, cxui, clvi.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell (1^-18941, introductory Poem, p. 163.XCIX.
Homer (twelfth centurj-. B,c.), t, it, tn.

Howe, Julia Ward (1819-1910), i-xvit.

Hunt, James Henry Leigh (1784-1859), cxt-vili.

Ingdow, Jean (1830-1897), cLin,

Keats, John (1795-1811), net.

Kernaihan, Coulson (1858), exit, otiii, cxiv, cxxviit.

Kingfilej-, Charles (1819-1875), LXjatnt, cut, cvi, cviii, cxxxi.

Kipling, Rudj-ard (1864), i-xsnc, cv, cx-xviK, cxxJhx, cxLVit, cLXltt-

Lang, Andrew (1844), Lxxvni, cxxvi.

Langbridge, Frederick (1849), LXixi, cxixii, CL, CLV, CLXiv, cutv.
Lockhart, John Gibson (1794-1854), xviti.

Longfellow, Hcny Wadsworth (1^7-1881), xiv, Li, Lxv, lxxxv, C, cx.
Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658), xxvi, xli.

Macaulay, Thomas Babington, Lord (1S00-1S59), vi, xxxv, xxsntt,
XXXIX, XLIL

Mackay, Charles (1812-1889), cxxxvii.

Mangan, James Clarence (i&i3-ia49), cxxxiii.

Marryat, Frederick (1792-1848), xciv.

Massey, Gerald (1828-1910), lxiv.

Milligan, Alice, cxxxv.

Montrose, Marquis of (James Graham) (1612-1650), xxv.

Moore, Thomas (1779-1852), cxxxrv.

Morris, William (1834-1896), xx, Lxxxvn.

Murray, Robert F. (1863-1894), ciix.

Myers, Ernest (1844), Lxxnn.

Newbolt, Henry John (1862), cxxix, exu
Noyes, Alfred (18S0), xcvjii, cliv.

Old Ballads, xxix, lxxxvul

Palgrave, Franas Turner (1824-1897), xmii, xxxvi, lvi.
PenneU, Henry Cholmondeley (1836), cxx.

Perdval, James Gates (182S-18S2), ctx.

Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), nt.

Procter, Bryan Waller (Barry Cornwall) (1787-1874), xcvi,

Rodd, Sir Rennell (1858), lxxxvi.

RoUeston, T. W. (18574, cxxiu

Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832),

XLrV, CXLIX.

Seaman, Owen (1861), cxxrv, t

XVII, xxill, XXIV, XXVII, XXX, XXXIII,
nruiv.

TABLE. OF AUTHORS

XIX

Shake^eare, William (1564-1616), xxxi, xxxiv,

Sims, George Robert (1847), civ.

Sonthey, Robert (1774-1843), i..

Spanish Ballad, xviii.

Stedman, Edmund Clarence (1833-1908), lxvi,

Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850-1894), csxx.

Stoddart, Thomas Tod (1810-1880), cxv.

Tennyson, Al&ed, Lord (1809-1892), ii, ix, x, xi, lxiii, xcvri.
Thompson, Francis (1859-1907), cxxv.

“ Touchstone,” cxvi.

Trench, Richard Chevenix, Archbishop (1807-1886), Lxii.

Watts-Dunton, Walter Theodore (1836), xxxvii.

Way, Arthur S. (1847), i.

Whitman, Walt (1819-1892), lxdc, lxx, lxxi.

Whittier, John Greenleaf (1807-1892), lxviii, cli.
Whyte-Mdidlle, George John (1821-1878), cvu.

Wolfe, Charles G791-1823), lvii.

WonWorth, WflUam (1770-1850), Lrv,

BALLADS OF THE BRAVE

I

BATTLES LONG AGO

Will no one tell, me tohat she shigs ?

Perhaps the plaintive numbers floxo
For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago.

William Wordsworth, "The Solitary Reaper”.

0 Troy's doton.

Tall Ti-oy's on fire.

Dante Oabriel Bosseiti, “ Troy Town

I

A BATTLE BEFORE TROY

(Siege of Troy, 1316 -] 307 b.c.)

So rank after rank they rolled onward, the Danaan men,
to the war

Without cease ; through the trampling the cry of the
captains rang out evermore ;

But in silence the rest of them followed, — thou never hadst
deemed, I trow,

Hushed with the fear of their chiefs, and about them
glanced and played

The wavering sheen of the armour wherein were their
squadrons arrayed.

1

2

A HA1TLK BEFORE TROY

But the Trojuns, — as sheep in the garth of a lord of
pastured land

In throngs upon countless throngs at tlic hour of milking
stand,

And they bleat evermore to the young lambs’ (]\iavcring
crj’ from the fold ;

So over the wide war-host their mingled clamour rolled

For not one was the language of tlicsc, nor the speech of
their lips the same,

But confusion of tongues, forasnweb as from diverse lands
they came.

It was Arcs that sped these onward, Athene the grey-eyed
those,

And Terror and Rout, and Strife mad-famishing ever for
foes ;

Sister she is and companion of Arcs the murdc'r-red ;

Little of stature she showeth at first, bnt her towering head

Soon smiteth the sky, while her feet on the earth amid
men-folk tread.

Now in the midst of the armies the Spirit of Hate she lialb
thro^vn,

Through the war-throng sweeping, and doubling the anguish
of men, and the moan.

Ever the mid-space narrowed, till closing they mingled,
and then

Clashed targets together, and spears, and the fury of brass-
maded men :

Dashed each against other the Iross-studded bucklers that
strong arms bore :

And the din shrieked up to the heaven, and roar was
swallowed of roar ;

And the agony -scream and the triumphing shout maddened
up evermore

From the slayers and them th.at they slew, and the earth
ran streams of gore.

And even as winter-tide torrents, down-rushing from steep
hill-sides '

Hurl their wild waters in one where a cleft of mountain
divides,

Tm the floods of the mighty fountains pent in the deep
gorge boil, ^

THE ARMING OF ACHILLES 3

And t)ie slicphcrd afnr on the mountains heareth the mad
• turmoil ;

So from the bickering tangle came shouting and battle-toil.

Homer’s "Hlod," Book iv. Tr. by A, S. Way-

11

THE TROJANS KEEP VIGIL

So Hector said, and sea-like roar’d his host ;

Then loosed their sweating horses from the yoke.
And each beside his chariot bound his own ;

And oxen from the city, and goodly sheep
In haste tJiey drove, and honey-hearted wine
And bread from out the bouses brought, and hea 2 )‘d
Their firewood, and the winds from off the plain
Roll'd the rich vapour far into the heaven.

And these all night upon the bridge of war
Sat glorying ; many a fire before them blazed :

As when in heaven the stars about the moon
Look beautiful, wlien all the winds are laid,

And every' height comes out, and jutting peak
And valley, and the immeasurable heavens
Break open to their highest, and all the stars
Shine, and the Shepherd gladdens in his heart :

So many a fire betiveen the ships and stream
Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy,

A thousand on the plain ; and close by each
Sat fifty in the blaze of burning fire ;

And champing golden grain, tlie horses stood
Hard by their chariots, waiting for the dawn.

Homer's " Iliad,” Book viu. Tr. by Lord Tennyson.

Ill

THE ARMING OF ACHILLES

Full in the midst, high-towering o’er the rest.
His limbs in arms divine Achilles drest ;
Arms which the father of the fire bestow’d.
Forged on th' eternal anvils of the god.

4

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire ;

His glowing eye-balls roll with living fire ;

He grinds his teeth ; and, ihrious with delay,

O’erlooks the embattled host and hopes the bloody day.

The silver cuishes first his thighs i^old :

Then o’er his breast ^vas brac’d the hollow gold :

The brazen s^vord a various baldric tied.

That, starv’d with gems, hung glittering at his side :

And, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield
Blazed with long rays, and gleam’d athwart the field.

Next, his high head the helmet graced ; behind,

’The sweepy crest hung floating in the -wind :

Like the red star, that from his flaming hair
Shakes down diseases, pestilence and war ;

So stream’d the golden honours from his head.

Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed.

The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes ;

His arms he poises, and his motions tries ;

Buoy’d by some inward force, he seems to swim.

And feels a pinion lifting every limb.

And now he shakes his great paternal spear,

Ponderous and huge 1 which not a Greek could rear.

From Pelion’s cloudy top an ash entire
Old Chiron fell’d, and shap’d it for his sire ;

A spear which stem Achilles only wields.

The death of heroes, and the dread of fields.

Homer's " Iliad,” Book lit.' Tr. by Pojja.

IV

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB
{From "Hebrew Melodies ”)

(ac. 710)

’The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
.^d his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ’•
^d the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep GalUee

ftOKO or HAltU

Like Uic IrAVw of Hie forrrt nlicu Summer h ^rcen,

That hoU with their imnncranl stiiwcL were accu;

Like the le.nvirsof the foreit wlicii Atilmiin hnth himvji,
Tliat he^t cm the morrow lay wither'd artel strewn.

I'or the AiircI of JJentli spro.rd his wliiys on the blnsl.
And hrealhed in the fare of the foe ns he pass'd ;

And the eyes of the sleeficrs wnx’d de.adly nnd chill,

And their hc-arls hut oner henved. nnd for ever ftrew hlill

And there lay the steed with his nostril nil wide,

Uni ihrouph It there roll’d not the hre.aUi of his pride ;
And the foam of his gnsjiinji 1,13- while on the turf,

And cold as the spr.n- of the mck.hc.rtinR surf.

And there l.ry (he rider distorted nnd jvdc,

Willi the desr on his hrou', nnd the rutl on his ni.nll ;

And the tents were nil silent, the hnnners nionc,

The Innocs mdiflcd, the tnimjiet imldown.

And the widow.s of Aslinr nrt loud in their wnil,

And the idols nrs* hroke in the temple of llml ;

And the. mipht of tlic t»entile, unsinote hs‘ the sword.
Until melted litre snow In the plnnce of tlie I/ird 1

Iror^ IS’jTi^h, " Pootical Work.!

V

SONO or SAUL IIKFOKK lllS I.AST BAITLK

(7'Vow •• Ilchmv ^fcJo{lics")

(llAm.r or On.nos, n.e. I05G)

Warriors nnd eluefsl should the shaft or the ssvord
Fierce me in lending the host of the Lonl,

Heed not the corse, Ihonph n king's, in 3 'our jinlli ;
Bury your steel In the Imsonis of Gnth !

Thou who nrt henring m 3 ' hucklcr nnd Imw,

Should the soldiers of Snul look nwn 3 ’ from the foe.
Stretch me Hint moment in hlood nl thy feel !

Mine he the doom which thc}' dnred not to meet.

IJOHATJl-'.S

• K'

lonllr

Wlifrc ihc fnr-Cinicd Iioltl

I’ilcd l>y thr iwnds r>f|;iAnls
Tor 1,'fHUike kiiipA of old ;

I’miit .nc.nijirl I'aiiuloiilri,

Whose .Sfiittiirls descry
ir-irdi (tin's snowy inoimlniit-tojts
Friti^Jtti; llie soiiHiertt sky ;

I'roiii the pmdd ninti of I’i'a*,
f Joerti of Ihe tvesleni tmves.

Where ride Mnssilin’s trirctiics
flcAvy with fnlr-linin-<l sinves;

rront wJtrre sweet (Umih wniidcrr,
'1‘hrotiph corn nnd viiirs nnd llotrcrs ;

t-Vxii tehnre (.'oftoiin lifts to Iienven
Her dindciii of towers.

vi

T.nll nre the n.iks whose neonis
Drop iti dnrk Atiser's rill ;

I'nl nre tlic stngs tlwl rietiitp tlic houj'lLS
Of the Ciiiiiiiinti liill ;

Ikyotid nil strentits Cliliiinniis
Is to the hcrdsiitnii dc.ir ;

Host of.nll |io<ds the fowler Jnves
The grent N^olsliilnii mere,

vli

Hut now no stroke of woodntnn
Is lieord by Atiscr’s rill ;

No hunter Ir.ieks the stng’.s green jwth
Up the Cimiiilnn hill ;

Unwntehed tilone Clilumnus
Or/izcs the inilk-tvliilc steer ;

Unhnnned the water fowl tuny tlip
In the VoKiiiLni mere.

HORATIUS

viii

The lian ests of Arretium,

This year, old men shall reap
This year, young boj^ in Umbro
Shall plunge the struggling sheep ;
Ami in tlie vats of Luna,

This year, the must shall foam
Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to Rome.

is

There be thirty chosen prophets.

The wisest of the land,

IVho alway by Lars Porsena
Both mom and evening stand ;
Evening .and mom the Thirty
Have turned the verses o’er,

Traced from the right on linen white
By mighty seers of yore.

X

And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given :

"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ;

Go fortli, beloved of Heaven ;

Go, and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome ;

And hang round Nnrscia’s altars
The golden shields of Rome

xi

And now hath every city
Sent up her talc of men ;

The, fool are fourscore thousand.

Tile horse are thousands ten :

Bernre the gates of Sulrium
Is mot the great array.

A proud rnaii was Lars Porsena
Upon the Uysting day.

noitATn!5

:in

For nil Uie Ftru'i'an annit-'

WVrc rttiii^ctl hi'; vyi',

And in'inv a (wnhliffd lloinmi.

And inmiy n nllv :

Anti ttilh rt inltjlity follHwiii;;

'IVt joitt llir mii*,trr caiTi"

I’liC- 'rtiMttilmi MatililidH,

I’ritior of tlnr L-ttian iisnic.

xlii

Jtnt by till' yt'ltmv Tilx'r
U'it< tiinnilt nnit nirri^Iit :

From all (In- v|ncltm» cliatnpuicn
' T<« Ifomr rnrii tiwk their fifjjlit,

A nillr Arniiml the city,

‘llic tliron;; shipjteil op the wnyt;

A ffArftil (■ijjlit it wa*i to km*

'ilironpli two loti;j and tlavs

\W

For a(;od folk's on rmtclit-v
Anti wotnoit prmt with child.

Ami nit'thfr5 rohhinv: over lml>t•^

'J'hat idntip- to them mtd smilcil,

Anti •■ick iii'.-it Itonie in litlcn;

fli;*li on the llcckH of jilawc,

Anti Inxipt of sun-htimrd liii'slrindinfii
With rt'.-ijiinp-hook's and slnvc.s,

XV

And dr<ivi*s <if mole*; anti n*!s<‘s
1/itlcn with )ikitt<t of wine,

Ami cntllct*: (locks of paats iintl sheep.
Anil endless henK of kiiie.

And emlless trains of wnppons-
That creaked iK-neath the weipht
Of ctini-sacks and of Jionstdiold potnls,
Choked every roaring gate.

10

HOllATIUH

ivi

Now, from Vhfi ToTp*'Uu,

Coolil tlie wnn Uurjiln'P’ ••|>y
'rl)0 line of UUtIo^ viU.nj;cs
UcJ in Uie sky.

The I'nllicrs of the City,

'I'licy wt nli ni"lit i\ntl tUv,
l or every hour some liorscmau emne
With iitiinp of ilismay,

xvii

To caslword niul to wcslwatil
Have spre.rrl the Tuscun tinrul' ;

N'or house, nor fence, nor ilovrcotc
In Cruslumcrium sUntls.

Verhenno down to Ostia
Until wnsleil nil tin: plain ;

Aslur hath stoniunl dnnieiiluin.

And the stout punnii nre slain.

XV Ui

1 wis, in ail the Senate,

llierc wna no lienrt so liold,
lint sore it nehed, nnd fust it \n-at.

When that lit news was told.

I’ortlnvitli up rose the Consul,

Up rose the I'ntliers nil ;

In hnste they pirded np their powns,

And hied them to llie wnll.

xix

They held n council stnndinp
Before the Uiver Gnlc ;

Short time wns there, ye well may pucss,
For musing or debate.

Out spake the Consul roundly ;

" The bridge’ must straight go down ;
For, since Jnniculum is lost.

Nought else c!in s.ave the to'vii

11

XX

.lu*t llteil 0 “iroul Mil)*' (lyinir.

Ml ttJM with lit'ilf- ntld fcAr;
"TohrinxI toflnn^! Sir :

Ijvh rorsrnx h hrtv",

()n the Inw hill’, trt tvritiv7»ril
'nil' C*i!»'ul liurd liH cjc,

Ami MW tht' r.w.irthy fllorni of dust
lli^r fn>.t airtiip thr xky.

xtl

And iiMn'r fiisl nnd nr.irvr
Dulh the red whirlwind rmtir ;

And hiiith'r jtil! <intl sKll niiirv loud,
I'rotn tmdemriilli tint rollin;! clmid,
l*r hrnrd thr w.ir.nolc proud,

The tniinpliinf, nnd llic limn.

And plninly Aiid more plainly
Now through Uic gltMitn npjK-ars,

Far In left and far to right.

In hruUrn glcaitix ofdarkdihic light,
Tltc lotig army of hchuclx hrlglit,

"I’lic long army of aftc-nrii.

xxii

And plainly and more plainly,

Above Ihni giiinmcriiip linr,

Now might ye rcc the bannori;

Of twelve fair cities sliinc ;

Ibit the Innner of proud Clii>-iuin
Was highest of them nil,

The terror of the IJinbrinn,

The terror of the C»nnl,

xxiil

And plainly nnd more plainly
Now might the burgiicrs know,

Hy port and vest, by horse nnd crest,
Eneh warlike T.ucuino,

12

HOlbVTlUS

llicte Cilums of ArrcUom
On his fleet wm svhs ‘pen :

And Aslur of the four-fold slitcld,

Girl with tlic hmnd none else may svicid,
Tolumnins witli llic Itell of pold.

Anil iLark Wrbennn from the Imld
By reedy Tlir.asyinciu-.

xxiv

Fust hy Ihe ro3nl staniLard,

O’crlookiitg nil the wnr,

Lars Porseii.a of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.

By the ripht wheel rmle Mnniilius
Prince of the Lalinn iinme ;

And hy the left fake Pexins,

Tliat wrought the deial of shame,

XXV

But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,

A yell that rent the finnamcnt
From all the town arose.

On the house-tops was no woman
But spat lowartls him and his'wl,

No child but screamed out curses,

And shook its little fist.

XXV i

But the Consul's brow was sad.

And the Consul’s speech was low, '
And darkl}' looked he .at the avail,

And dark!)' at the foe.

" Their v.an will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down ;

And if tliej’ once may win the bridge,
Wlrat hope to sna'c the team } "

iK>nATii;s

n

x\vi\

'I'lirn out 5pikc !)nivc Ilornliti'i,

Tlif Crtplniii of th*.- Gntf; :

" T(1 cvrr}' ujKtn tliit •‘.irlh
Dc-ith cuiiirtli or Intc.

And hniv ortti rnr.ji «Hc iK-ttor
fnoiiirt fcurfiil cxIiU,

For llie ashf^ of hi< fatlicrs,

Atul ttu’ tcMiplr-* of liii tJfxl*,

xxviil

“ Aiul fur ll)f lonticr niotlitT
Who (l.nidlrtl him to rc^t.

Ami fur tilt- w-ifi* iv'ho mipics
Hi> h-thy nt her hrc-nt,

Anil fur the Indy maldm^

Who fn’d tin: ttr-ni.t! fl.unc,

To vtvr them from faltc Sextus
Thxl tcrouftlit the deed of ^hruuc r

xxit

"Hew down the hrld(;c, Sir roniid,
With nil the speed yc inny ;

I, witli two inon,- to lielp in<’.

Will liold the foe In plrtv.

In you striit pith a thoiisnoil
Mny well lie slopped hy three.

Now who will stnnd on cither Imml,
And keep the hridpc irlth me?”

XXX

llien out spike Spuriiis Ijirlins:

A Ihnnninn prruid was he:

“ Iy<i, I will slnnd nl Ihy ripht Imnd,
And keep the liridgc with thee".

And out spike, strong Henninin.s;
OfTilInn hlowl was he:

" I will abide on lliy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee

JIORATJUS

14

xxxi

"Ilomtitis,’’ quoth the Consul^ ^

“ As thou sayest, so let it lie.”

And straight against lliat great array
Forlli went the dauntle-ss Tlirec,

For Romans in Rome's quarrel •

Spared ncitlier land nor gold,

Xor'son nor wife, nor limb nor life,

In the brave days of ohl.

xxxti

Tlicn none was for a party ;

Then all were for the state;

Tlicn the great man helped tlic poor,
/Vnd the poor man loved tbc great :
Tlien lands were fairly portioned ;

Then sjwils were fairly sold :

The Romans were like brothers
In Uie brave days of old.

xxxiii

Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
y\nd the Tribunes beard the high.

And tlic Fathers grind the lew.

As we wax hot in faction.

In battle we wax cold :

Wherefore men fight not .as they fought
In the brave days of old.

xxxiv

• Now while the Three were tightening
Their liamcss on their backs.

The Consul was tlie foremost man
To take in hand an axe ;

And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hktehet, bar, and crow.

And smote' upon the planks above.

And loosed the props below.

HORATIDS

Ifi

XXXV

- Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold.

Dime flashing back the noonday light.

Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a brpad sea of gold.

Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee.

As that great host, with measured tread,

And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
RoUed slowly towards the bridge’s head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.

xxxvi

The Three stood calm and silent.

And looked upon the foes.

And a great shout of laughter
. From all the vanguard rose :

And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array ;

To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And hfted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrow way ;

xxxvii

Aunus finm green Tifemum,

Lord of the Hill of Vines ;

And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines ;

And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war.

Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that grey crag where, girt with towers.
The fortress of Nequinum lowers
O’er the pale waves of Nar.

J ,

xxxviil

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath :

Herminius struck at Seius,

And dove him to the teeth ; • '

HORATIUS

At Picua brave Horatins
Darted one fiery thrust ;

And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.

xxxix

Then Ocnus of Falcrii

Rushed on the Roman Three ;

And Lausulus of Urgo
The rover of the sea ;

And Aruns of Volsinium,

Who slerv the great wild boar,

The great wild boar that had his den
Amidist the reeds of Cosa’s fen,

And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
Along Albinia’s shore.

si

Herminius smote down Aruns :

Lartius laid Ocnus low ;

Eight to the heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.

“Lie there,” he cried, "fell phate!

No more, aghast and pale.

From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark
The track of thy destroying hark.

No more Campania’s binds shall fly
To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail.”

xli

But now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes,

A wild and wrathful clamour
From aU the vanguard rose.

Six spears' lengths from the entrance
Halted that deep array.

And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.

HORATIDS

17

xlii

But hark !^the cry is Astur :

And lo ! the ranlcs divide ;

And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.

Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the four-fold shield.

And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield,

xllii

He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high ;

He eyed the flinching Tuscans,

And scorn was in his eya

Quoth he, “The she-wolfs litter
Stand savagely at bay :

But will ye dare to follow.

If Astur clears the way ? "

xliv

Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height.

He rushed against Homtius,

And smote with all his might.

With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.

The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ;

It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh ;

The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.

xlv

He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space ;

Then, like a wld cat mad Avith wounds.
Sprang right at Astur’s &ce ;

Through teeth, and skull, and helmet
So fierce a thrust he sped.

The good sword stood a band-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan’s head.

18

HORATITJS

xlvi

And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke.

As falls on Mount Alvemus
A thunder-smitten oak.

Far o’er the crashing forest
The giant arras lie spread ;

And the pale augurs, muttering low.

Gaze on the Wasted head.

xlvii

On Astur's throat Horatius
Right drmly pressed his heel.

And thrice and four times tugged amain.
Ere he wrenched out the steel.

“ And see,” he cried, “ the welcorae.

Fair guests, that waits you here 1
MTiat noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer ? ”

' slriii

But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran.

Mingled of •wrath, and shame, and dread,
Along that glittering van.

There lacked not men of prowess.

Nor men of lordly race ;

For all Etruria’s noblest
Were round the fatal place.

xlix

But all Etnuia’s noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses.

In the path the dauntless Three :

And, from the ghastly entrance
IVhere those bold Romans stood.

All shrank, like boys who unaware.
Ranging the woods to start a hare,

Come to the mouth of the dark lair
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
lies amidst bones and blood.

HORATIUS

1

Was none who would be foremost
To lead such dire attack:

But those behind cried “ Fonvard ! ”
And tliose before cried “Back 1 ”

And backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array ;

And on the tossing se:i of steel,

To and fro the standards reel ;

And the victorious trumpel-pcal
Dies fitfully oway,

li

Yet one man for one moment
Strode out before the crowd ;

Well knowai was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud.

"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus 1
Now welcome to thy home 1

\\'J»y dost thou stay, and turn awa)' ?
Here lies the road to Home."

lit

TJiricc looked he at the cilj' ;

Thrice looked he at the dead ;

And thrice came on in fury,

And tlirice turned back in dread ;

And, white wtli fctir and hatred,
Scowletl at the narrow way.

Where, wallowing in a jkmjI of blood.
The bravest Tuscans lay.

liii

But meanwhile axe .and lever
Have manfully been plied ;

j\nd now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.

“ Come back, come Iwck, Horatias I ”
Loud cried the Fathers all.

“ Back, Lartius I back, Herminius !
Back, cre the ruin Cdl I ’’

HORATIUS

liv

Back darted Spurius Lartius ;

Herrainius darted back :

And, ns they passed, beneath their feet
They felt the tinibers crack.

But when the}' turned their faces,

And on the farther shore
Saw brave Homtius stand alone,

They would have crossed once more.

Iv

But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam,

And like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream :

And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,

As to the highest turret-tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.

Ivi

And, like a horse unbroken
When first he feels the rein.

The furious river struggled hard.

And tossed his tawny mane.

And burst the curb, and bounded.
Rejoicing to be free.

And, whirling down, in fierce career.
Battlement, and plank, and pier.
Rushed headlong to the sea.

Ivii

Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind ;

Thrice thirty thousand foes before.

And the broad flood behind.

"Down wth him I" cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face.

“Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena,
"Now yield thee to our grace."

IIORATIUS

21

Iviii

Round turned he, ns not deigning
Tliosc emven mnks to sec ;

Nought spake Jie to Lars Porsenn,

To Sextus nought spake he ;

Rut he saw on Pnintiuus
The white porch of his home ;

And lie sjwkc to t/ie noble river
That rolls by tlie towers of Rome.

lix

"Oh, Tiber! fntlier Tiber!

To wliom tlie Romans pray,

A Roman ’.s life, a Roman's arms.

Take thou in charge tin's day ! ”

So lie sp;ike, and, speaking, sheathed
The good swonl by ins side,

And, witli Ills lianicss on hLs back.
Plunged Iieadlong In the tide.

lx

No sound of joy or sorrow
Was licard from citlier bank ;

Rut friends and foes in dumb sur])risc,
Witli parted lips and straining eyes.
Stood gnsing where he sank ;

And, when above the surges
Tlicy saw his crest appear.

All Rome sent fortli a rapturous cry.
And even the mnks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.

Ixi

, Rut swiftly ran the current.

Swollen high by niontlis of min ;
And fast his blood was flowing ;

And he was sore in pain.

And heavy with Ids armour,

And spent with changing blows :
And oft they thought him sinking.

Rut still again he rose.

22

HOEATJDS

Ixii

Never, I weeu, did swimmer.

In such an evil case.

Struggle through such a raging flood
Safe to the landing place :

But his limbs were home up bravely
By the brave heart within,

And our good father Tiber
Bare bravely up his chin,

Ixiii

“ Curse on him I ” quoth false Sextus ;

“ Will not the vUlain drown ?

But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town!”

" Heaven help him ! ” quoth Lars Porsena,
" And bring him safe to shore.

For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before."

Ixiv

And now he feels the bottom ;

Now on dry earth he stands ;

Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands ;

And now, ifrith shouts and clapping.

And noise of weeping loud.

He enters through the River-Gate,

Borne by the joyous crowd.

Ixv

Tliey gave him of the corn-land.

That was of public right,

.(Vs much as two strong oxen

Could plough from mom till night ;

And they made a molten image.

And set it up on high.

And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.

UOUATIUS

Z'i

Ixvi

It .sUmds iti Hie ComiUutn,

Plain for all folk to see ;

Ilomtius in his Imniess,

Hailing upon one knee :

And nndemoath Is nTilleii,

In letters all of gold.

How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

l.wii

And still Iiis name sounds stirring
Unto tiic men of Rome,

Ah the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscinn home ;

And wives still pray to Juno
For boy's with hearts as bold

As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.

Ixviii

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north winds blow,

And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;

When round the lonely' cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,

And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within ;

Ixix

When tlie oldest cask is opened,

And the largest lamp is lit;

When the cheshmts glow in llie eihbers.
And tlic kid turns on the spit ;

When young and old 'in circle
Around the firebmnds close ;

When the girls arc weaving baskets,

And tlie lads are shaping bows ;

25

(/(/itlAk/;!v,'; hiUli-Ai '/OLKI {>1

Uli/iSOHIlAB(AND!IlUST^M, }

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier’s name ;

Sounds, not arms, shall -win the prize.

Harmony the path to fame.

Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land.

Arm’d rrith thunder, clad with ivings.

Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cassar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway ;

Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.

Such the bard’s prophetic words.

Pregnant with celestial fire.

Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with aU a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bosom glow ;

Rush'd to battle, fought, and died,

Dying, hurl’d them at the foe.

" Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due ;

Empire is on us bestow'd.

Shame and ruin wait for you ) ”

William Ociopoi', " Poetical Works".

vin

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM

{Extract)

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,

And he too drew his sword ; at once they rush'd

Together, as two eagles on one prey

Come rushing down together from the clouds,

One from the east, one from the west ; their shields
Dash’d with a clang together, and a din

. ■ sotnuii AN'i>

Ro'JC, sucli 4is llial tho Miicwy woml-oillrt-i
Malco oflrn in the fort'^fs. hf^rl at nuini.

Of huwiu;; n\i<, cw.irni!' tree's — sndi
ItusUim anil Snhmb on each utlicr lialld.

Anil you \vouU\ ?ay that run anil took part
In tlml uiniatiiml confliol; for a cloiul
Orcsr •uidJenly in Heaven, anil ilark'il the nni
Over the figlitcrs' hi*aih. ; anil n ninil noe
Under llieir feet, and nnwnin;; iwept tlie plain.

And in a sandy whirl'vind wrapp'd the piir.

In ploom tlu-y twain avcre wTapji'd, and tliey nionc;
For Ixilh tlie ondookinj; hosU on either liand
Stood in hroad dayliehl, and the sky was pure,

And the sun sjurkknl on the 0\iis stream.

But in the gloom lin y fonphl, with hloottshol eyes
And labouring breath ; first Ruslinn slriieU the shield
Which Sohmb held slilT out : tlic steebs])ikial s]K*.ir
llenl the tough pl.itcs, hut fail’d to reacli the skin,
Anil lluslmn pbick'il it b.ack willi angry griMii.

Then Sohr.ah with hb sword smiite Ihistum's liebn.
Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the crt*l
lie shore aw.ay, and that proud horsehair phnne,
Never till now defiled, sank to the ihi«t ;

And Itusluni liow’d his head; but then the gloom
Grew bl.acker, thunder nimhhnl in the air,

And lightnings rent the cloud ; and lluksli, the horse,
Who .stood .at hand, utter'd .a drc.adful iTy
No horse's cry was licit, most like the roar
Of some pain'd desert linn, who all day
Hath trail'd the hnulcr's javelin in his side.

And comes at night to die u)Km the sand.

Tlie two liosls hc-ard that cry, and quaked for fear,
And Oxns curdleil m it cross'd his slrenin.

But Sohrnij hcanl, and quail'd not, huj ru'h'd on.

And slnick again ; .and again Rusluni liow’d
His head ; hut this lime, nil the hlad-, like glass.
Sprang in a thousand shivers on thc-^iclm,

And in his liaiul the hilt remain’d alone.

Then Ruslum raised his head ; i),< ilrcndful eyes
Glared, and he shook on high hi< menacing spc.ar,
And shouted : nustnm /—Sohmb hcanl that shout,

SOHRAB AND RDSTUM

2 ?

And shrank amazed ; back he recoil’d one step.

And scann’d ivith blinking- eyes the advancing form ;
And then he stood bewilder’d ; and he dropp’d
His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.

He reel’d, and, staggering back, sank to the ground.
And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,

And the bright sun shone forth, and melted all
The cloud ; and the two armies saw the pair —

Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet.

And Sohrab, wound^, on the bloody sand.

Matthew Arnold, “ PooUcal Works ”.

II

POEMS OF THE ARTHURIAN ROMANCE
Flos Begum Arlhurus.

Joseph of ExcIot.

TP7ioi Arthur first in court began
And loas approved King,

By force of arms great victorys wanne,

And conquest home did bring.

Sir Lancelot du Lahe.

That gray King, whose name, a ghost,
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak.
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still.

Lord Tennywn, "To the Qaoon" (Dedication ol complotod
" Idylls ot the King ").

. . . Arthur, my dear Lord, the greatest King
That ever liv^.

William JUorrh, " King Arthur’s Tomb

IX

SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE
A Fraoment

(About the Middle or the Sixth Centohy)

Like souls that balance joy and pain.

With tears ana smQes from heaven again
The maiden Spring upon the plain
Came in a sun-lat fell of rain.

28

SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE 29

In crystal vapour everywhere
Blue isles of heaven laugh’d between.

And far, in forest-deeps unseen,

The topmost elratree gather’d green
From draughts of balmy air. ■

Sometimes the linnet piped his song :

Sometimes the throstle whistled strong :
Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,

Hush'd all the groves from fear of -wrong :

By grassy capes with fuller sound
In cun^es the yellowing river ran.

And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan.

Above the teeming ground.

Then, in the boyhood of the year.

Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro’ the coverts of the deer.

With blissful treble ringing clear.

She seem’d a port of joyous Spring :

A go^vn of grass-green silk she wore.

Buckled with golden clasps before ;

A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden rin^

Now on some twisted ivy-net.

Now by some tinkling rivulet.

In mosses mixt with violet

Her cream-white mule his pastern set ;

And fleeter now she skimm’d the plains
Than she whose elfin prancer springs
By night to eery warblings.

When all the glimmering moorland rings
With jingling bridle-reins.

As she fled fast thro' sun and shade.

The happy winds upon her iday’d,

Blowng Uie ringlet from the braid :

She look’d so lovely, as she sway'd
' The rein with dainty finger-tips.

SIR GALAHAD

A man had given all other bliss.

And all his worldly worth for this,

To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.

Lord Tennyion, “ Poetical Works ’

X

SIR GALAHAD

(Aboot the Middle of the Sixth Centuhy)

My good blade carves the casques of men.
My tough lance thrusteth sure.

My strength is os the strength of ten
Because ray heart is pure.

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high.

The hard brands shiver on the steel,

The splinter’d spear-shafts crack and fly,
'Hie horse and rider reel :

They reel, they roll in clanging lists.

And when the tide of combat stands,
Perlume and flowers laTl in showers,

'That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend
On whom their favours fall !

For them I battle till the end,

To save from shame and thrall :

But all my heart is drawn above,

My knees are bow’d in crypt and shrine ;
I never felt the kiss of love.

Nor maiden’s hand in mine.

More bounteous aspects on me beam.

Me mightier transports move and thrill ;
So keep I fair thro’ feith and prayer
A virgin heart in work and will.

tVhen down the stormy crescent goes,

A light before me swims.

Between dark stems the forest glows,

I hear a noise, of hjmns :

SIR GALAHAD

Then by some secret shrine I ride ;

I hear a voice, but none are there ;

T})e stalls are void, the doors are wide.

The tapers burning fair.

Fair gleams the sno^vy altar-cloth.

The silver vessels sparkle clean,

Tlie shrill bell rings, the censer swings,

And solemn chaunts resound between.

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark ;

I leap on board : no helmsman steers :

I float till all is dark.

A gentle sound, an awful light !

Three angels bear the hol^' Grail :

With folded feet, in stoles of wliite.

On sleeping wings they sail.

Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God !

My spirit beats her mortal bars.

As down dark tides the glory slides.

And star-like mingles Avith the stars.

Wlien on my goodly charger borne
Tiiro’ dreaming tmvns I go,

Tbe cock crows ere tbe Christmas mom.
The streets are dumb Avith snow.

The tempest crackles on the leads.

And, ringing, spias from brand and mail ;
But o'er the dark a glory spreads,

And gilds the driving hail.

I leave the plain, I climb the height;

No branchy thicket shelter yidds ;

But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight — to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear ;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,

Pure spaces clothed in living beams.

32

MOIITB D’AHTHUn

Pure lilies of eternal pence,

Whose o<loiiTS hminl niy dre/ims ;

And, stricken by nn angers hand.

This mortal nrmour timl 1 wear,

This weiglil and sir.c, this heart and eyes,

Arc toucii'd, are tun»’d to finest air.

Tile clouds arc broken in the sky.

And thro’ the mountain-walls
A rolling orgnn-hnnnon}'

Swells up, and shakes nTid falls.

Then move the trees, tlie copses nod.

Wings flutter, voices hover clear :

“ O just and faithful knight of Gml !

Hide on 1 the prize is near.’’

So pass I hostel, h.ill, and grange ;

By bridge and ford, by jwrk and pale,
All-nrin'd I ride, wlinte'er betide,

Until I find the holy Grail,

Ijord Tmn'jyrti, “Pocllcsl Works”

XI

MORTR D’AHTHUU

(About the Bnd ok the Sixth Centuhv)

So all day long the noise of battle roll’d
Among the mountains by the winter sea ;

Until King Arthur's table, man by man.

Had fall'n in Lyonnesse about their Lord,

Kiug Arthur ; then, because his wound was deep.

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him.

Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights.

And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,

A broken chancel with a broken cross.

That stood on a dark strait of barren land.

On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere ;

1 he sequel of to-day unsolders all
1 he goodliest fello^vship of famous knights

MORTE D’ARTiroR

Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we
. Shall never more, at any future time^

Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
WalMng about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.

I perish by this people which I made, —

Tho’ Merlin swire that I should come again
To rule once more — but let what will be, be,

I am so deeply smitten thro’ the helm
That without help I cannot last till mom.

Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,

Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake.

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.

Holding the sword — and how I row’d across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king :

And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime, this also shall be known :

Rut now delay not ; take Excalibur,

And fling him far into the middle mere :

Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere :

"It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus,

Aidless, alone, and smitten thro’ the helm.

A little thing may harm a wounded man.

. Yet I thy hest -will aU perform at full,

Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.”

So saying,- from the ruin’d shrine he stept
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs.

Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men.

Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
■ By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock.

Came on the shining levels of the lake.

Tliere drew he forth the brand Excalibm-,

And o’er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled keen ■with finst against the hUt :

For all the haft twinkled with diamond studs,

3

34

iMORTE D’ ARTHUR

Myriads of topaz-lightSj and jacinth-work
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both liis eyes were dazzled, ns he stood.

This way and that dividing the swift mind.

In act to throw : but at the last it seem’d
Better to leave K\calibnr conceal’d
There in the many -knotted wterflags.

That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.

So strode he back slow to the wounded king.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere :

“ Hast thou perform’d my mission which I gave ?
What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? ”
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :

" I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,

And the wild water lapping on the crag.”

To whom replied King Arthur, feint and pale :

" Thou hast betray’d thy nature and thy name,
Not rendering true ans\ver, as beseem’d
’Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight ;

For surer sign had follow’d, either hand.

Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.

’This is a shameful thing for men to lie.

Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again
As thou art lief and dear, and do the tiling
I bad thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.”

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere.
Counting the dewj' pebbles, fix’d in thought ;

But when he saw the wonder of the hilt.

How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together, and he cried aloud.

“ And if indeed I cast the brand away.

Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,

Should thus be lost for ever from the earth.
Which might have pleased the eyes of man}' men.
^yh at good should follow this, if this were done ?
What harm, undone ? deep harm to disobey.
Seeing obeience is the bond of rule.

^ ere it well to obey then, if a king demand
An act unprofitable, against himself?

The King is sick, and knows not what he does.

MORTE D’ARTHUR

What record, or what relic of my lord
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt ? but were this kept,

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty Icings,

Some one might show it at a joust of arms.

Saying, ‘ King Arthur’s sword, Excalibur,

Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.

Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.’

So might some old man speak in tlie aftertime
To all the people, 'winning reverence.

But now much honour and much fame were lost,”

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit.

And hid Excalibur the second time,

And BO strode back slow to the wounded King.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily :

"'What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast beard ? ”

And answer made the hold Sir Bedivere .*

" I heard the water lapping on the crag,

And the long ripple washing in the ree^.”

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath :

"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,

Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me I
Authority forgets a dying king,

Laid ividow'd of tl>e power in his eye

That bow’d the will. I see thee what thou art.

For thou, the latest-left of all my knights.

In whom should meet the offices of all,

Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.

Yet, for a. man may fail in duty twice.

And the third time may prosper, get thee hence :

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,

I wilbarise and slay thee witli my hands.”

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,

And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch’d the sword.

And strongly wheel’d and threw it. The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon.

And, flashing round and round, and, whirl'd in an arch.

J36

MORTE D’ARTHDR

Shot like a streamer of the northern mom,

Seen irhere the moving’ isles of ninter shock
By night, -vrith noises of the northern sea.

So flash’d and fell the brand Excalibur :

But, ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in white samite, mystic, ■wonderlnl.

And caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him
Three times, and drew him under in the. mere.

And lightly went the other to the King.

Then spoke King Artliur, drawing thicker breath
" Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.

Speak out : what is it thou hast lieard, or seen ? ’
And answer made the l)old Sir Bedivere :

"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
Should blind my purpose, for 1 never saw.

Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die.

Not tho’ I live three lives of mortal men.

So great a miracle as yonder hilt.

Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ;
But, when I look’d again, behold an arm.

Clothed in white samite, mptic, wonderful.

That caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.”

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard :
" My end draws nigh ; ’tis time that 1 were gone.
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear
My wound hath taken cold, and 1 shall die,”

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm.

And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully regarded thro’ his tears.

And would liave spoken, but he foimd not words,
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,

O er both his shoulders drew the languid hands.
And rising bore him thro’ the place of tombs.

But, as he walk’d. King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sigh’d the King,
Mattering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, quic

MOHTE D’ARTHUK I

I fear it is too late, and I shall die.”

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,

Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk’d,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.

He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
Before. His o^7n thought drove him like a goad,

^ Dry clash’d his harness in the icy caves
And barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clang’d round liim, as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels —

And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake.

And the long glories of the winter moon.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge.

Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stem.

Beneath them ; and descending they were ware
That all the decks were dense with stately forms ,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — by these
Three Queens with cro^vns of gold — and from them rose
A cry that shiver’d to the tingling stars.

And, as it were one voice, an agony
Of lamentation, like a -wind, that shrills
All night in a waste land, where no one comes.

Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmur’d Arthur, “Place me in the barge,”

And to the barge they came. There those three Queens
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.

But she, that rose the tallest of them all
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap.

And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
And call’d him by his name, complaining loud.

And dropping bitter tears against his brow
‘ Striped Avith dark blood : for all his &ce was white
And colourless, and like the wither’d moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ;

And all his greaves and cuisses dash’d ivith drops
' Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls —

That made his forehead like a rising sun

High from the dats-throne — were parch’d with dust;

Or, clotted into points and hanging loose.

Mix’d with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.

38

MORTE D’ ARTHUR

So like a shatter’d column lay the King ;

Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest.

From spur to plume a star of tournament,

Shot tW the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere,

“ Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ?

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes ?

For now I see the true old times are dead.

When every morning brought a noble chance.

And eveiy chance brought out a noble knight.

Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders \vith the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole noimn table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world ;

And 1, the last, go forth companionless.

And the days darken round me, and the years.

Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”

And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge :

" The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

And God fulfils Himself in many ways.

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ?

I have lived my life, and that which 1 have done
May He within Himself moke pure I but tliou.

If thou shouldst never see my face again.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what ore men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain.

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend ?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

But now farewell. 1 am going a long way
With these thou seest — if indeed I go —

^or all my mind is clouded with a doubt)

’To the Island-vaUey of AviUon ;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow.

Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies

- MORTE D'ARTirUR

89

Deep-meodoAv'd, happy, fair irith orchard-lawiis
And bo^very hollows crown'd wdth summer sea,

Where I will heal me of my grievous womid."

So Said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death.

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dinvn.

And on the mere the wailing died away.

Lord Tennyson, “ Postical Works

THE BUEIAL OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 41

■ And by the torch's blaze

The stately priest had said
High words of power and praise
To the glory of the dead.

They lowered him, with the sound
Of requiems to repose,

When from the throngs ^und
A solemn voice arose :

"Forbear, forbear I ” it cried,

"In the holiest name forbear I
He hath conquered regions wide.

But he shall not slumber there.

" By the violated hearth

Which made way for yon proud slm'ne.

By the harvests which this earth
Hath home to me and mine ;

" By the home even here o’erthrown.

On my childten s native spot, —

Hence I with his dark renown
Cumber our birthplace not !

" Will my sire's unransomed field
O’er which your censers wave.

To the buried spoiler yield
Soft slumber in the grave ?

"The tree before him fell
Which we cherished many a year.

But its deep root yet shall swell
And heave against his bier.

" The land that I have tilled
Hath yet its brooding breast
With my home's white ashes filled —

And it sliall not give him rest.

" Here each proud column's bed
Hath been wet by weeping eyes, —

Hence 1 and bestow your dead

Wliere no ■wrong against him cries I ”

, HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN

Shame glowed on each dark face
Of those proud and steel-girt men,

And they bought with gold a place
For tlieir lender's dust e’en tiieii.

A little earth for him

Whose banner flew so far 1
And a peasant’s talc could dim
The name, a nation’s star 1

One deep voice thus arose

From a heart which wrongs had riven,

Oh I who shall number tliose

That Avere but heard in Heaven ?

Felicia Dorothea Hemans, " Poetical Works '

xin

HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN

{From "Lays of Many Lands”)

The bark that held a prince went doAvji,

The sweeping waves rolled on ;

And what was England’s glorious crown
To him that Avept a son ?

He lived — for life may long be home
Ere sorrow break its chain ; —

Wliy comes not death to those who mourn ? —

He never smiled again I

There stood proud forms around his throne,

The stately and the brave.

But which could fill the place of one,

That one beneath the Avave ?

Before him passed the young aird fair,

In pleasure’s reckless train.

But seas dashed o’er his son’s bright hair —

He never smiled again 1

He sat Avhere festal boAvls Avent round ;

He heard the minstrel sing ;

He sSav the Tourney’s victor croAvned
Amidst the knightly ring :

43

THE NORMAN BARON

A murmur of the restless deep
; Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep —

He never smiled again 1

Hearts, in that time, closed o’er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman’s place
At many a joyous board ;

Graves, vrhich true love had bathed with tears.
Were left to Heaven's briglit min.

Fresh hopes were bom for other years —

Sc never smiled again 1

FcJicin Dorothea Eemans, " Poetical Works

xtv

THE NORMAN BARON

(Front “ T/te Bdfry of Bruges ” )

‘ (About 1150)

In his chamber, weak and dying.

Was the Norman baron lying ;

Loud, without, tlie tempest thundered.
And the castle-turret shook.

In this fight was Death the gainer.

Spite of vassal and retainer.

And the lends liis sires had plundered.
Written in the Doomsday Book.

By his bed a monk was seated.

Who in humble voice repeated
Many a prayer and pater-noster,

From the missal on his knee ;

And, amid the tempest pealing,

Sound of bells came faintly stealhig,

Bells that from the neighbouring kloster.
Rang for the Nativity.

44

THE NORMAN BARON

In the hall, the serf and vassal

Held, that night, their Christmas wassail ;

Many a carol, old and saintly.

Sang the minstrels and the waits.

y\nd so loud these Saxon glccmen
&ing to slaves the songs of freemen.

That the storm was heanl but faintly,
Knocking at the castle-gates.

Till at lengtii the lays they ch.aunled
Reached the chamber terror-haunted.
Where the monk, with accents holy,
Whispered at the baron’s ear.

Tears upon his eyelids glistened.

As he paused a while and lislenctl.

And tlie dying baron slowly

Turned his weary head to hear.

" Wassail for the kurgly stranger
Bom and cradled in a manger 1
King, like D.avid, priest, like Aaron,

Christ is born to set us free 1 ”

And the lightning showed the .sainted
Figures on the casement painttal.

And exclaimed the shuddering Iwron,

“ Miserere, Dominc 1 "

In that hour of deep contrition.

He beheld, with clearer \-ision.

Through all r itwnrd show and fashion.
Justice, fhc Avenger, rise.

All the pomp of earth had vanished.
Falsehood and deceit were banished.
Reason spake more loud than passion,

And the truth wore no disguise.

Every vassal of his b.anner.

Every serf bom to his manor.

All those wronged and wretched creatures,
B}- his hand were freed again.

A UALLAD OF THE CRUSADES ' 4S

And, as on the sacred missal.

He recorded their dismissal.

Death relaxed his iron features.

And the monk replied, " Amen ! "

Many centuries Jiavc been numbered
Since in death the baron slumbered
By the convent’s scidptured portal.

Mingling mth the common dust ; .

But the good deed, through the ages
Living in historic pages.

Brighter glows and gleams immortal,

Unconsnmed by moth or rust-
Henry Wadstoorlh LonyfcUoto, “ Pootioal Works

XV

A BALLAD OF THE CRUSADES
(End of TwEtmi Centuhv)

’Twas a gallant band of knights who had fronted many
fights.

And the noble lord Coimt Robert ivas the leader of the
hand ;

And -these valiant soldiers swore by the crosses that they
Avore,

TJiat "no word of peace be spoken Avhilst the tower be-
neath may stand ",

And the tower still rested sure; firmly built, it might
endure.

For it recked not of the famine, or of watchings in the
■ night; - -

Wounded, weary, and unfed, aid a phantom, comrades dead.
Men dragged on a slow existence, lacking all the spurs
of fight.

Then they whispered 'gainst their oath, but the foremost
man was loath

To stand forth before Count Robert and to give their
murmurs speecli ; . , .

40

A HALLAD OF TlfK CUUSAHEH

But Before the Count Uicy cnitic, stunding silent in tlicir
sbntne.

And their lender stood kirehcndcd, giir.ing sad from
each to each.

Then he bended donm his head. “ There is one man here,"
lie s-aid,

“Who hath done the thing \vc hated, and tomorrow
mom shall die

Tlien each knight looked from his place with the question
in his face.

Like Apostles at the Supper, saying, “Master, is it I"?

But Count Robert spoke aloud, “Tlierc is no man midst
this crowd

Who hath broke his oath save one, and he shall perish
in his shame ;

But he could not watch ye die. Oh, old comrades, it is 1 ;

And the Saracen gives quarter save to him who was to
blame,"

Then they scaled the empty bonrtl and thronged closer
round their lord.

Bearded warriors bronzed and hardened, but no cychd
there was diy.

Crying, “ We have broken troth, no man here has kept
liis oath ;

But we shrink not from our pen-iuce : each man here
shall surely die ".

Then Count Robert raised his hand. "Friends, I may not
well withstand.

Life is hardly worth the saving if a better thing draw
nigh.

And the nobler tiling is death, where it waits ns doivn be-
neath.

Mid the tents along the valley where the heedless
Moslems lie."

So they issued forth that night ere the coming of the light.

Whilst the blazing tower behind them lit their path s\ith
- lurid red.

, BROCK. TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN 47

And they slew.and slew and slew, till tlit rising of the dew.
Then each war-cry dropped in silence, and each gallant
spirit fled.

'Twas a valiant band of knights, victors in a hundred fights ;

But what man may move a mountain, or with famine
' ' . strive and stand ? ,

If they faltered they withstood till they purged their oath
. in blood.

And the noble knight Count Robert perished foremost
of their hand.

John A. Goodchild, “ Somnia Modici ” (Second Series).

XVI

BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN
(24 June, 1314)

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled ;

Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie ! '

Now’s the day, and now’s the hour ;

See the front o’ battle lower ;

See approach proud Edward’s pow’r —
Chains and slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor-knave ? “

Wlia can fill a coward’s grave ?

Wha sae base ,as be a slave ?

Let him turn and flee !

Wha for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw.
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’.

Let him follow me !

By oppression's woes and pains.

By your sons in servile chains.

We \vill drain our dearest veins.

But they shall be free !

48

CORONACH

I^-iythe proud usurpers low !

Tyrants fall in every foe !

Liberty’s in every blow 1
Let us do, or die !

Robert Burns, " Poetical ^Yotl£a

CORONACH .

{From “ Tlic Lady of Ihe Lalec," Canto 111.)

He is gone on the mountain.

He is lost to the forest.

Like a summer-dried fountain,

UTjen our need was the sorest.

The font reappearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow.

But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow !

The hand of the reaper

Takes the cars that are hoar}’,

But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.

The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that arc searcst,

But our flower was in flushing.

When blighting was nearesL

Fleet foot on the correi.

Sage counsel in cumber,

Red hand in the foray.

How sound is thy’ slumber 1
Like the dew on the mountain,

Lake the foam on the river.

Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and for ever 1

Sir trailer Scott, “Poetical Works^’.

IV

FORAY, FIELD, LOVE, AND TOURNEY

(cHAnLEMAONE TO ELIZADETn)

If doughty deeds my lady please,

Bight soon III vuyimt my steed,

And strong his amn, and fast his scat
That bears frae me the tneed.

Graham of Oarlmore.

To love one maidmi only, cleave to her,

And worship her by years of noble deeds.

Tennyson, “ Qiiinerere

SoJtnd, sound the clarion, fill the fife /

To all the sensual vmld proclaim
One crowded hom of glorious life
. Is luortE an age witlmit a name.

Sir Waller Scott, Heading to Obap. xxxiy, o£ •' Old Mortality

xvm

THE MOOR CALAYNOS
(Latter Part of Eighth Centhry)

" I imd six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,

TJie Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave
me lore ;

And slie told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words
might be.

Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a
gallant fee.'”

" Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, " if thou wilt go with me.

Say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.

Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale,

And bonny is the red, red gold, and rich the silver pale."
4 49

THE MOOR CALATNOS . 61

.Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin’s youthful
cheer,

But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier.

Now in a ring around the King, not far in tlie greenwood.

Awaiting all the huntsman’s call, it chanced the nobles
stood ; ■ .

"Now list, mine earls, now list I" quoth Charles, "yon
breeze rvill come again.

Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny
banks of Seine.”

He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had
said,

Wlien among the trees he near him sees a dark and tur-
baned head ;

" Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor,"
quoth Charlemagne,

" That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods
of Seine ? ”

"My turban green must needs be seen among the woods
, of Seine,"

The Moor replied, " since here I ride in quest of Charle-
• msgne —

For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bring

To every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your
■ King.

“ Now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye’ve seen
him riding,

O, teU me plain the path he hos ta’en — there is no cause
for chiding ;

For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris —

Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed
he tarries."

When the Emperor had heard tlie Moor, full red was his
old cheek,

“ Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek.

Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun,

For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go
down.

52

THE MOOR CALAYNOS

“ Mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake King
Charlemagne).

“ Would for one hour I had the power of my young days
again,

As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain den

O, soon should cease the vaimting of this proud Saracen !

" Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs
be grey,

The hard-won praise of other days caimot be swept away.

If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must -
lie.

Go forth, go forth, good Ronald ; to-night this Moor must
die."

Tlien out and spake rough Roland — “ Ofttimes I’ve thinned
tire ranks

Of the hot Moor, and when all was o’er, have won me little
thanks ;

Some carpet knight will take deliglit to do this doughty
feat.

Whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and
whispers sweet 1 ”

Then out and spake Sir Baldwin — the youngest peer was
he,

The 3 ’oungest and the comelicst — “ Let none go forth but
me ;

Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer,

But I wll show the youngest may be Sir Roland’s peer ”.

go not thou,” quoth Cliarlemagne, “thou art my
gallant j'outh,

And braver none I look upon ; but thy cheek it is too
smooth ;

And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossj’ bright ;

Some elder peer n\ust couch his spear against this craftj'
knight.”

But awaj', awaj' goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now,

Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the moun-
tain's brow.

THE MOOR CALAYNOS

53

He reinetli first his charger, mthin the church-yard green.

Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is
seen. ,

Then out and spake Cnlaynos — “ Fair youth, I greet thee
well ;

Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou \vith me wilt dwell.

All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy
fee.

Within ray lady's chamber a pretty page thou’lt be’’.,'

An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,

“ Proud knight,” quoth - he, “ I come with thee a bloody
spear to break ”.

Oh, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus be heard him say —

Oh, loudly as he mounted his mailed barb did neigh.

One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies
full low —

No youthful knight could bear tlic might of that fierce
warrior’s blow j

Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,

“ Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy
soul must go ”.

The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the con-
queror :

“ I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour ;

But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy
knee,

For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue
thee ”.

Sir Roland heard that haughty word (he stood behind the
■wall).

His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kins-
man fall ;

But now his heart was burning, and never a word he
said,

But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his
head.

M 'IMF. .M(M»U r-AlAVS*'"

AiinUu r ?.^v^ tl'r Mo'>ri>-1i ku'^lA, t'hi'a M*'*'

tiU lioni,

To rail liiin lo llii' itoiiFiF oi Aus:trt ^< 1 l! in «t-i=n( ;

AU r.Kvil ill fiDin {(f-'itl to jir'5,iii ftn-' ‘'t rji'J* lii;;!' li*”

Stornl,

Tile loii^ hpr.-ir m ^l;^ Inoit. t( f'-f

IdiKxl.

Then f>!ii tintl (\Hyii?’. — “’rii) I fsiii

hiMr ;

A iNironcl on Uiy Jutni •■ft ; ! jni*''' '-i* * *■

Sir ItoKnil liflrd U|i lil*. lioni, r.inl Fit n li'.m'F

“No word', luttr ijtiolh Uid oul, ’'UiW lio-jr rF'H 1*i'

tliy Invl".

1 wot lln-v met full 'wiftly, 1 «iit tli- 'fs' rti'lf ;

Down fell ttir iiiol'rlirtcr, «n<l nVr Incn Jfnliittil ;

ClO'e lo hi? ttiri'it the •■tci-l fif .viid plncl.rtl lit*

1h-.v( 1 full MUT,

“ Wlinl devil linnif'tit tluT Itillier J toil or ilif. fot*r

Moor

“ Oil ! J jen'c n noble iltintel, n Inu.^bty looid of

And in evil iLiy ! took my v.oy, Ibal 1 ber pmee ini.'dil

ftnln ;

For every pifl 1 offered, my Indy iliil dbd'iin,

And croved llir c;ir» of certnin I’n !> lint rlile «lth I'lntle-
ninunc,"

'Then lovidly hiiglieil roUf;li Itolniid — “ Full fcvi nlll lo- tier
tcorH,

It wn^ not love li( r 'onl did uti)\r, rtlien <lit* Inile tlin"
lienrvl Tiir. rni m

VI ith that lieMiiote I’pon tiia lliroal, nml .'ptinml lib rrv^t
in Irniin,

"No more," he crlec, “ ihU moon will rbe alniYc the wivhIi
of Stine."

Spwiljk Bnllak Tr. by JeJ-.n

A BALLAD OF BONCESVALLES

XIX

A BALLAD OF BONCESVALLES
{From " Tlic Siege of Valencia ”)

(a.d. 778)

" Thou hast not been with a festal throng
At the pouring of the wine ;

Men bear not from the Hall of Song
So dark a mien as thine I

There’s blood upon thy shield.

There’s dust upon thy plume, —

Thou hast brought from some disastrous field
That brow of wrath and gloom ! "

"And is there blood upon my shield? —
Maiden, it well may be 1

We have sent the streams from our battle-field.
All darkened to the sea I

We have given the founts a stain,

'Midst their woods of ancient pine;

And the ground is wet — but not with rain.
Deep dyed — but not rvitb wine.

" Tlie ground is wet — but not with rain —

We have been in war array,

- And the noblest blood of Christian Spain
Hath bathed her soil to-day.

I have seen the strong man die.

And the stripling meet his fate.

Where the mountain-winds go sounding by
In the Roncesvalles’ Strait.

" In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait
There are helms and lances cleft ;

And they that moved at mom elate
On a bed of heath are left :

There’s many a fair young face,

Which the war-steed hath gone o’er ;

At many a board there is kept a place
For those that come no more 1 ”

A BALLuVU OF EONCESVALLES

SR

" Alas t for love , — for iroman s breast.

If Tvoe like this must be 1

Hast Uiou seen a youth avith an eagle crest.

And a white plume \vanng free?

With his proud, quick-flashing eye,

And his mien of knightly state ?

Doth he come from where the swonls flashed high.
In the Ronccsvalles’ Strait?”

" In the gloomy Ronccsvalles’ Strait
I saw and marked him well ;

For nobly on his steed he sate,

When the pride of manhood fell I —

But it is not youth which turns
From the field of spears again ;

For the Iwy’s high heart too wildly bums,

Till it rests among the slain 1 "

"Thou canst not say that Jic lies low —

The lovely and the brave ?

Oh 1 none can look on his joyous brow.

And think upon the gravel
Dark, dark perchance the day
Hath been with valour’s fate ;

But he is on his homcwanl way

From the Honcesvalles’ Strait.”

" 'I’liere is dust upon his joyous brow,

And o’er his graceful head ;

And the war horse will not wake him now.

Though it browse bis greensward bed.

1 have seen the strijfling die.

And the strong man meet his fate,

U’here the mountain-winds go sounding hy
In the Uoneesvallcs' Strait.”

Felict'a Dorothea Hemans, “ Poetical ^Yori;8

\

SHAMEFUL DEATH

57

XX

SHAMEFUL DEATH

I ‘

There were four of us about that bed ;

The mass-priest knelt at the side^

I and his mother stood at the head.
Over his feet lay the bride ;

We were quite sure that he was dead.
Though his eyes were open wide.

He did not die in the night.

He did not die in the day,

But in the morning twilight
His spirit pass’d away.

When neither sun nor moon was bright.
And the trees were merely grey.

He was not slain with the sword,
Knight's axe, or the knightly spcJir,
Yet spoke he never a word
After he came in liere ;

I cut away the cord

From the neck of my brother dear.

He did not strike one blow.

For the recreants came behind.

In a place where the liombeams grow,
A path right hard to find.

For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
Tliat the twilight makes it blind.

They lighted a great torch then.

When his arms were pinion'd fast ;

Sir John the Knight of the Fen,

Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,

With knights threescore and ten.

Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

r.a

LA BELLE DAME BANS MERCI

I am threescore and ten.

And my hair is all turn’d grey,

But I met Sir John of the Fen
Long ago on a summer day,

And am glad to think of the moment when
I took his life awa)'.

1 am threescore and ten.

And my strengtli is mostly pass’d,

But long ago 1 and my men,

\\'hen the skj' was overcast.

And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,
Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

And now, knights all of you,

I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,

A go^ knight and a true.

And for /Dice, his wife, pray too.

William Morris, "Tbo Dcfonco ot Guenovore
and other Poems”.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

O wliat can ail thee, Knight^at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering ?

The sedge has wither’d from the lake.
And no birds sing.

0 what can nil thee, Knighl-at-anns,
So haggard and so woebegone ?

The squirrel’s granary is full.

And the han’est’s done.

1 see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew ;
And on thy dieeks a fading rose
Fast wthereth too.

LA Belle dame sans mbrci

I met a lady in the meads.

Full beautiful — a faery's child ;

Her hair was long, her foot was light.

And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head.

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;

She look’d at me as she did love.

And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,

■ And nothing else saw all day long.

For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet.

And honey wild, and manna dew ;

And sure in language strange she said,

" 1 love thee true ",

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

, And there I dream’d — Ah, woe betide

The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too.

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ;

They cried — "La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Hath thee in tlvrall 1 ’’

I saw the starved lips in the gloam
•With horrid warning gap6d wide,

And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering.

Though the sedge is wither n from the lake.
And no birds sing.

John Keats, “ Poetical Works

50

60

KEITH OF EAVELSTOX

xxu

KEITH OF RAVELSTON

(Fmn "A Nuptial Evo" in “England in Time of War

The murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine,

“ Oh, Keith of Ravelston,

The sorrows of thy line 1 ”

Ravelston, Ravelston,

The merrj’ path that leads
Down the golden morning hill,

And thro’ the silver mends ;

RaveEton, Ravelston,

The stile beneath the tree,

Ike maid that kept her mother’s kine.

The song that sang she I

She sang her song, she kept her kine,

She sat beneath the thorn
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode thro’ the Monday mom.

His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,

His belted jewels shine !

Oh, Keith of Ravelston,

The sorrows of thy line 1

Year after year, where Andrew came.

Comes evening down the glade.

And still there sits a moonshine ghost
Where sat the sunshine maid.

Her misty hair is faint and fair

Oh n® shado^ry kine’;

Obj Keith oi Ilnvelstioti,

The sorrows of tbjdbne !

^ “y upon t]L stile,
rpL stue is lone andlcolcL
The bumie that goes bubbling bv
hays nought that can Vie told.

BllANKSOME HALL 01

Yet, stranger ! Ivere, from year to year,

Slie keeps her shadowy kine ;

Oh, Keith of Ravclston,

The sorrows of thy line !

Step out three steps, where Andrew stood —
Why blauch thy cheeks for fear ?

The ancient stile is not alone,

’Tis not the bum I hear.

She makes her inunemorial moan,

She keeps her shadowj' kine ;

O]}, Keith of Ravelston,

The sorrows of thy line 1

Sydnetf Dobell, “ roellcal Works,” Vol. I,

-•r.vm

. CRANKSOME HALL

{From “ TJie Lay of the Last Minstrel," Canto L)

(Middle of the Sixteenth Centuhy)

The feast was over in Brauksomc tower.

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ;

Her bower that was guarded by wortl and by spell.
Deadly to lienr, and deadly to tell —

Jesu Maria, shield us well J'

No living wight, save the Ladye alone.

Had dai^ to cross the threshold stone.

The tables were drami, it was idlesse all ;

Knight, and page, and household squire
Loiter’d through the lofty hall.

Or crowded round the ample fire.

The stttghounds, weary with the chase,

Lay stretched upon the rushy floor,

And urged, in dreams, the forest race,

, From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.

62

beanksome hall

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame

Hung their snields in Branksome Hall ,

Nine-and-twenty squires of name

Brought them their steeds to bower from shill j
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall
Waited, duteous, on them all ;

They were all knights of mettle true.

Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.

Ten of them were sheathed in steel,

With belted sword, and spur on heel ;

They quitted not their harness bright.

Neither by day, nor yet by night ;

They lay down to rest
With corslet laced.

Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ;

They carved at the meal
With gloves of steel.

And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr’d.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men,

Waited the beck of the warders ten ;

Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,

Stood saddled in stable day and night,

Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow.

And with Jedwood-ase at saddle-bow;

A hundred more fed free in stall ;

Such was the custom of Branksome Hall.

Why do these steeds stand ready dight ?

Why watch these warriors, armed, by night ?

They watch, to hear the bloodhound baying.

They watch, to hear the war-hom braying ;

To see St. George’s red cross streaming.

To see the midnight beacon gleaming ;

They watch, against Southern force and guile.

Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy’s powers.

Threaten Branksome’s lordly towers.

From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.

Sir Walter Scott, >• Poetical Worka

03

> THE COMBAT ,

• XXIV

. . - THE COMBAT ,

{From “ Tlio Lay of iJie Last MindU-el," Canto F.)
(Middle of the Sixteenth Centdrv)

Within the lists, in knightly pride,

High Home and haughty Dacre ride ;

Tlieir leading staffs of steel they wield,

As marshals of the mortal field :

While to each knight their care assigned
Like vantage of the sun and wind,

, Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim.

In king, and queen, and warden’s name,

That none, while lasts the strife.

Should dare, by look, or sign, or word,

Aid to a champion to afford.

On peril of his life ; .

, And not a breath the silence broke
-Till thus the alternate Herald spoke; —

English Herald.

Here standeth Richard of Musgrave,

Good knight and true,- and freely bom.
Amends finm Deloraine to crave.

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn.

He sayeth, that William of Deloraine
Is traitor false by Border laws ;

Tin's with his sword he ■will maintain
So help him God, and his good cause 1

Scottish Herald.

Here standeth William of Deloraine,

Good knight and true, of noble strain,

IVho sayeth, that foul treason’s stain.

Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat ;

And that, so help liim God above.

He ■wiU on Musgrave's body prove.

He lies most foully in his tlnoat.

THB COW HAT
Lord Dacrc.

Forwtvul, liravc chftnjpioiw, lo tliC fii'ht !

Sound Inimpfls !

Lord Home.

God defend Hie rif^lit !

Then, Teviot ! how Uilnc echoes n\ng,

Wlien bugle-sound nnd Iruinpcl-clnng
Let loose the innrtinl foes,

And in mid list, with shield poised high,

And niOASiired step and n-nry eye,

The combiitmits did close.

Ill would it suit 3 'our gentle ear.

Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How lo the ajte the helms did sound.

And blood \K>urcd down from many a wound :
For desperate was the strife, and long.

And either warrior fierce and strong.

But, were each dame a listening knight,

1 well could tell how warriors figlit 1
For I have seen war's lightning flashing,

Seen the claymore svith bayonet clashing,

Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing
And scorned, amid the reeling strife.

To yield a stcji for death or life.

'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow
Has stretched him on the bloody plain ;

He strives to rise — Brave Alusgrovc, no!

Thence never shnlt thou rise again !

He chokes in blood — some friendly hand
Undo the visor's Iwrred band,

Unfix the gorget’s iron clasp,

And give liim room for life to gasp 1 —

O, bootless aid i — haste, holy I’riar —

Haste, ere the sinner shall expire !

Of all his gailt let him be shriven.

And smooth his path from earth lo liOaven 1

MONTROSE’S LOVE-SONG

In haste the holy Friar sped ; —

His naked foot was dyed with red •

As through the liste he ran ;

Unmindful of the shouts on high.

That hailed the conqueror’s victor)',

He raised the dying man ;

^ose waved his silver beard and hair,

As o’er him he kneeled down in prayer ;

And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye ;

And still he bends an anxious ear.

His faltering penitence to hear;

Still props him from the bloody sod.

Still, even when soul and body part,

Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

And bids him trust in God 1
Unheard he prays ; — the death-pang’s o’er : —
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.

Sir Walter Scott, “ Poetical Works ’

XXV

MONTROSE'S LOVE-SONG

My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy.

For if confusion have a part.

Which virtuous souls abhor.

And hold a synod in thy heart,

I’ll never love thee more.

Like Alexander, I will reign,

■ And I will reign alone :

My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival to my throne.

He either fears Ins fate too ranch.
Or his deserts are small.

Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it aU.

,66

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON

But if thou wilt prove faithful then
And constant of thy word,
rU make thee glorious by my pen,

And famous by my sword ;

I’ll serve thee in such noble waj's
Was never heard before ;

I’ll crown and deck thee all with baj's.

And love thee more and more.

James Oraham, Marquis of Monirost,

XXVI

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON

When Love \vith nnconfinfed wings
Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates ;

When I lie tangled in her hair
And fetter’d to her eye,

The gods that wanton in the air
Know no such bberty.

When flowing cups run smftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound.
Our hearts with loyal flames ;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep.
When healths and draughts go free —
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When (like committed linnets) 1
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty.

And glories of my king ;

When 1 shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,

EnlaigM winds, that cml the flood.
Know no such liberty.

A AFEARY LOT IS THINE,' FAIR MAID

Stone wlls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage ;

Minds iimocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage ;

If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am :^e,

Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

Sickard Lovelace, “Lucasta; Odes,
Sonnets, Songs, sto.”.

xxvu

A WEARY LOT IS THINE, FAIR MAID

(From “ Boheby’' Canto III.)

“ A weary lot is thine, fair maid,

A weary lot is thine 1
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,

And press the me for ivine !

A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,

A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green —

No more of me you knew.

My Love !

No more of me you knew.

“ This morn is merry June, I trow.

The rose is budding fain ;

But she shall bloom in winter snow.

Ere we two meet again.”

He turn'd his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore.

He gave the bridle-reins a shake ;

Said " Adieu for evermore.

My Love !

And adieu for evermore.”

Sir TFafter Scott, ‘‘Poetical Works

cnKcv

r.n

CUF-C-V

{55 At'iiV'T,

.■M Crc^y liy Soinrue in Ponthicn
Hiph up on o windy liiU
A mill Rlniid^ out like n lower ;

Kinp E<lwiirtl sbrntl*. on ihe mill.

The pCiin iR .RWtliin/j below,

Ar Vciuviii'! scctlieR with
But O ! not with fire, but jpirr,

Earth Incarnadined oVr,

Crimson with shame niid wiUi fame ! —

To tile King run the messengers, ming,

“Tliy Son Is hard-paiss'd to the dying! "

“ l..et nlone : for lo-d-ay will be written in story
To the grc.at world's end, nnd for ever ;

So let the boy have the glory.”

Erin nnd GwalU there

With England are one agninst France ;
Oulfneing llic orifl.amrac red

The red dragons of Merlin nilvnnec;

As a harvest in autumn renew’d
Tile lances bend o’er the fields ;

Snow-thick our arrow-heads arhite
Level the foe .as they light ;

Knighthood to yeomanry yields ;

Proud heart, the king svntches, ns higher
Goc.s the hlar.c of the battle, and Higher ;

‘‘To-rlay is a d.ay ss'ill l>c 'vritten in slorj’

To the great world’s end, nnd for ever !

Let the boy alone bas'c the glorj'.”

Harold at Scnlac-nn-Scn
By Norman arrow laid low,
l\ hen the shield-wall avas breach'd by the shaft.
Thou art avenged by the bow !

I

ijj f.[j p ®one cajj ® ^ame ;

V*; ef««t Ivor? p '''® ‘■e >WH °'™“ /
^'■M.ofr. fflo,^""®'

''"W^BoES ?«-4,.

B7 o j « ^ajd i^/g, „ ,

T/le o*f B ®"''ij',

et fi,oj s end, and for ever®/“'>'

® and fJe 1

OP OTrpo

J'Mol >S«8I

^"Efand, to cato. ^ ^ode
a prey

n

iiATru: <»K on‘i:mifit:uN'K

He rlmso tlic Gonl-nii anti tin- Gra-me'.,
With Him tlic Ii;;ht ami nav

Hut till' Jnrilints wnltl not with It'in ritlc,
Ami Uicy nitr it to thH day.

Anil he hi'- hum'll thr ililrv oflyim,

Aiul pirt of llniihmiiith ahiro :

Ami thnf paal lower' on Hovhur^jh WW,
He left them nit on firr.

Aiul lit' march'll up to Newcastle,

Ami riKli; ii rouml nlt^mt ;

■' () wlia's the loni of thin c.mtle,

• Or whn's the indy ii'l ? "

Hill up spike proud ly>nl I'erey. thru,
And t) hut he ‘paUe hie !

'' I nui till' lord of this r.intlr.

My Wife's the lady Hay ! "

" If tliim'rl the lonl of thin cintlr,

Sne wcel it plr.mi'n me !

For, ere 1 cronn the Ixinler felln,

The lime of tin sill die."

He look n limp spi'nr in his hind,
Slioil willi the iiu'IaI fm',

And for to inecl llic D.’oj'lns there,
He rode right furioun'ic.

Hill O how pile hin Indy look'd,

Frae ntf llie canlle wn’,

M'hcn down before the Scottish sjiirir,

“Ilr.d wire of- n upon the preen.
Anil m> n d, vo.Vo to sec,

1 wad hnc I " i, fleiih nnd fell ;

Hut yoiir'V'S.Sj sail g.io wi' me."

" Hut g.ie ye f(l(.^o Ollerlwunie,

And wail tl [jjc dnyis three ;

And, if I comcliol ere three tl.iyin end,
A faille kiiighlca' ye me. "

\ BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE '

“Tlie Otterbourne’s a bonnie burn;

’Tis pleasant there to be ;

But there is nought at Otterboume,

To feed my men and me.

"The deer rins wild on hill and dale.

The birds fly wild from tree to tree ;

But there is neither bread nor kale.

To fend my men and me.

"Yet I -will stay at Otterboume,

Where you sail welcome be ;

And, if ye come not at three dayis end,

A fause lord I'll ca’ thee."

" Thither \vill I come," proud Percy said,

" By the might of Our Ladye 1 ” —

"Tliere will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
" My trowth I plight to thee.”

They lighted high on Otterboume,

Upon the bent sae bro^vn ;

They lighted high on Otterboume,

And threw their ijallions down.

And he that had a bonnie boy,

Sent out his horse to grass ;

And he that had not a bonnie boy.

His ain servant he was.

But up then spake a little page,

Before the peep of dawn —

" O waken ye, waken ye, m^ good lord.

For Percy’s hard at hand. '

" Ye lie, ye he, ye bar loud I
Sae loud I hear ye lie ;

For Percy had not men yestreen.

To dight my men and me.

“ But I hae dream’d a dreary dream,

, Beyond the Isle of Sky ;

I saw a dead man win a fight,

And I think that man was 1."

BATTLE OF OTTERBOORNE

He Belted on his good braid sword.

And to the field he mn ;

But he forgot the helmet good.

That should have kept his brain.

When Percy wi’ the Dougins met,

1 wat he was fu' Cain 1

They swakked their swords, till sair they swat
Aiid the blood ran dorvn like rain.

But Percy with his good braid sword,

That could so sharply wound.

Has wounded Dougins on the brow',

Till he fell to the ground.

Then he called on his little foot-page.

And said — " Run speedilie.

And fetch my ain dear sister’s son.

Sir Hugh Montgomery’,

" My nephew good,” the Douglas said,

“ WTiat recks the death of ane !

Last night I dream'd a dreary dream.

And I ken the day’s thy ain.

“ My wound is deep ; 1 fain would sleep ;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,

And hide me by the broken bush.

That grows on yonder lilye lee.

“O bury me by the broken bush,

Beneath the blooming brere ;

Let never living mortal ken.

That ere a kindly Scot lies here.”

He lifted up that noble lord,

Wi’ the saut tear in his e’e ;

He hid him in the broken bush.

That his merrie men might not see.

The moon was clear, the day drew near.

The spears in flinders flew.

But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE

73

The Gordons good, in Englisli blood.

They steeped their hose and shoon;

The Lindesays'flew like fire about.

Till all the fray was done.

The Percy and Montgomeiy met.

That either of other -were fain ;

They s^vakked swords, and they twa swat,

And aye the blude ran down between.

" Yield thee, O yield thee, Percy ! ” he said,

" Or else I vow I’ll lay thee low ! ”

" Whom to sail I yield,” said Earl Percy,

" Now that I see it must be so ? ”

“Thou sall’t not yield to lord nor loun,

Nor yet sall't thou yield to me ;

But yidd thee to the braken bush,

That grows upon yon lilj'e lee. I ”

“ I will not yield to a braken bush.

Nor yet will I yield to a brere ;

But I would yield to Earl Douglas,

Or Sir Hugh [the Montgomeiy], if he were here."

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,

He stuck his sword’s point in the grounde ;

And the Montgomery W'as a courteous knight.

And quickly took him by the hande.

»

This deed was done at Otterbourne,

. About the breaking of the day ;

Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush.

And the Percy led captive away.

Old Ballad.

THE RED HARLAAY

xx's

THE RED HARLAW
(Battle of Harlaav, 2 + Jula’, 14 - 11 )

Now baud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen, great and sma'.

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach’s cried on Bennachie,

And doun the Don and a’,

And hieland and lawland may moumfu’ be
For the sair field of Harlaw.

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds.
They hae bridled a hundred black.

With a chafron of steel on each horse’s head.
And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,

A mile but barely ten.

When Donald came branking down the brae
Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they Avere AraAong wide.

Their glaives were glancing clear.

The pibrochs rung fine side to side.

Would deafep ye to he.ar.

The great Earl in his stirrups stood.

That Highland host to see ;

“Now here a knight that’s stout and good
May prove a jeopardie :

“ What wonld’st thou do, my squire so gay.
That rides beside my rein.

Were ye Glenallan’s Earl the day.

And I Avere Roland Che3Tie ?

HENRY THE FIFl’H’S SPEECH AT AGINCOURT 76

, ■ “ To turn the rein urere sin and shamej
To fight were vrondrous peril, —

What Avould ye do now, Roland Cheyne,

Were ye Glenallan’s Earl ? ”

“Were I Glenallan’s Earl this tide,

And ye were Roland Cheyne, ^

The spur should be in my horse's side,

And the bridle upon his mane.

“ If they hae twenty thousand blades.

And we twice ten times ten.

Yet they hae but tlieir tartan plaids.

And we are mail-clad men.

" My horse shah, ride through ranks sae rude,

As tlwough the moorland fern, —

Then ne’er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.”

Sir Walter Scott, “ The Antiguaiy

KING HENRY THE FIFTH’S SPEECH BEFORE
AGINCOURT

(25 OcTOBEH, 1415)

King Senry , — This day is called tJie feast of Crispian ;
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home.

Win stand a-tip-toe when this day is named.

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall live this day and see old age,

WiU yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours.

And say. To-morrow is Saint Crispian :

Tlien will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say. These w'ounds I had on Crispin’s da)'.

Old men forget ; yet shall not all forget,

the battle of agincoubt

But he’ll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that day : Then shall our names,'
Familiar in his mouth as household words —

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster —

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d ;

This story shall the good man teach his son ;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by.

From this day to the ending of the \rorld,

But we in it shall be rememberM ;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother ; be he ne’er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition ;

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, wMes any speaks
Tliat fought with us ujwn Saint Crispin’s day.

irsiliam ShaVttptare, •' King Henry V.,” Act Iv. Scene 3.

VXXll

THE BA'ITLE OF AGINCOUBT

(95 OcTonr.n, ]4'15)

Fair stood the wind for France
Mlien we our sails advance.

Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry ;

But, putting to the main.

At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,

With all his martini train.

Landed King Harry.

And, taking many a fort,

Furnishetl in warlike sort,

March d tow.arjs Agincourt
In happy hout ;

THE BATTLE OP AGINCODET

77

Skirmishing day by day
With those that stop’d his way.
Where the French gen’ral lay
With all his power.

Which, in his height of pride.
King Henry to deride, .

His ransom to provide
To the king sending ;

Which he neglects the while.

As from a nation vile,

Yet with an angiy smile,

Their fell portending.

And, turning to his men,

Quoth our brave Henry then,
Though they to one be ten,

Be not amazfed.

Yet have we well begun,

Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame beenraisM.

And for myself, quoth he,

This my full rest shall be,
England ne’er mourn for me,

Nor more esteem me.

Victor I ^vill remain
Or on this earth lie slain.

Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.

Poitiers and Cressy tell.

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell.

No less our skill is,

Than when our grandsire great.
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lop'd the French lilies.

70 .

THE BATTLE OF AGLVCOURT

Arms •n'ere from shoulders sent.
Scalps to the teeth were rent, ■
Down the Prench peasants went ;
Our men were hardy.

This while oim noble king,

His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding.
As to o'envhelm it ;

And many a deep woimtl lent,

His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Glo’ster, that duke so good,

Next of the royal blood,

For famous England stood,

With his brave brother ;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden toight,

Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Wan^'ick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,

And cruel slaughter made,

Still as they ran up ;

Suffolk his axe did ply,

Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon St. Crispin’s day,

Fought was this noble fray,

Which fame did not delaj%

To England to carry ;

O when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,

Or England breed again
Such a King Harry ?

Michael Drayton.

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHO

XXXIII

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU

(From “ Lyrical and Miscellaneous Pieces ")

pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,

Wake thy -wuld voice anew,

Summon Cbin-ConuiL
Come away, come away.

Hark to the summons I
Come in your war array.

Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky,

The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.

Come every hill-plaid, and
True heart that wears one.

Come every steel-blade, and
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd.

The flock without shelter ;

Leave the corpse nninterr'd.
The bride at the altar ;

Leave the deer, leave the steer.
Leave nets and barges ;

Come with your fighting gear.
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when
Forests are rended ;

Come as the waves come, when
NaHes are stranded :

Faster come, faster come.

Faster arjd taster.

Chief, vassal, page, and groom.
Tenant and master.

FALL OP WOLSEY 81

- Fast they come, fast they come ; \

See ho'w they gather I
Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set I
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset 1

Sir IFolter Sco((, " Poetical 'Worta”.

X.VXIV

THE FALL OF WOLSEY
(1530)

TFbZscy.— Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
' Iri all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.

Let’s diy our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell ;

And — ^when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee ;

Say — Wblsey — tliat once trod the ways of glory.

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,

Found thee a Avay, out of his \vTeck, to rise in ;

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.

Mark but my fell, and that which ruin’d me.

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition :

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then,

The image of his Maker, hope to rvin by ’t?

Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace.

To silence enWous tongues. Be jus^ and fear not ;

Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s,

Th}”- God’s, and truth’s ; then if thou feU’st, O, Cromwell,
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the King ;

And— Prithee, lead me in :

' C.

OT

82

„V= •« “’■''“■Jl'" ’‘“S’ " ' A cto®'""’

YenPj, ’to ■We»''®"’ O Cio'^trse&V
r'ABiy

to to^^^ticnce;

I ’^"A^rVe Ao'd^^”^-

Vlflvc i_e« __(3ood s'T.

eft>

Croni'®'

1W''“''“ sjrfrf""'

■pate'K

soi»":;-ao

V

SONGS OF THE ARMADA

(elieadetii to chahles I.)

King Philip had vaunted his claims ;

He had sworn for a year he would sack us ;
With an army of heathenish names
He was coming to fagot and stack us ;

Like the thieves of the sea' he would track us,
And shatter cnir ships on the main ;

But wo had hold Neptune to hack us , —

And where are the galleons of Spain f

■ Austin Dobson, “A Ballad to Queen Elizabeth of the
Spaniah Annada

XXXV

THE ARMADA
(July 1588)

Attend, all ye who list to bear our noble England's praise ;
I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient
■ days,

\Vl)en .that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain
The richest spoils of Mexico, tlie stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
Tliere came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth
Bay;

Her .crew hath seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s
isle,

At earliest tAvilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.

83

84

THE ARMADA

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace;-
And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held lier close in
chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall ’
The beacon bhized upon the roof of Edgecumbe s lofty
hall ;

Many a light fishing -bark put out to pry along the coast,

And -Nvith loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a
post.

With his white hair unhonneted, the stout old sheriff comes ;
Behind him march the halberdiers ; before him sound the
drums ;

His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample
space ;

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily Aance the
bells,

As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. ,
Look bow the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown.

And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay blies do-wn.
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that fenied
Picard field,

Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Cresar’s eagle
shield.

So glared he when at Agincourt in -xvrath he turned to bay.
And crushed and tom beneath his claws the princel)'
hunters lay.

Ho 1 strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight : bo ! scatter
flowers, fair maids ;

Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your" '
blades :

Thou sun, shine on her joyously ; ye breezes, \vaft her wide ;
Our glorious sEstpcn eadem, the Iwnner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s, '
massy fold ;

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed tliat liauglity scroll
of gold ;

Night Mnk u|)on the dusky' beach, and on the purple sea.
Such iiiglit in England ne'er had been, nor e’er again shall

THE ARMADA' 8/5

From Ikldysloiie to Bcnvick bounds, from Lynn to Milford
Bay,

Tlie time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day ;

For swift to cast and swift to west the ghastly war-flame
spread,

High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone : it shone on B6achy
Head.

Fur on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern
sliirc,

Gape beyond cape, in endless range, those hvinkling points
of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves :

The rugged miners poured to avar from Mendip's sunless
caves :

O’er Longleat’s towers, o'er Cranboume’s oaks, the fiery
herald flew;

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of
Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from
Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Qifton
down ;

The sentinel on Whitehall gale looked forth into the night,

And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-
red light.

Then bugle’s Jiotc and cannon’s roar the deathlike silence
broke.

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city -woke.

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires ;

At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires ;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice
of fear ;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder
cheer :

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurry-
ing feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each
roaring street ;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the
din,

As fast finm every vRlage round the horse came spurring in :

ELIZABETH AT TILBUIiy

RC

And eastward straight from wild Blackheath tlie warlike
errand went,

And roused in many on ancient hall the gallant squires of
Kent.

Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright
couriers forth ;

High on bleak Hampstead’s swarthy moor they started for
the north ;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded
still :

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang
from hill to hill :

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin’s rocky
dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven tlie stormy hills of
Wales,

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely
height,

Till streamed in crimson on the ^vind the Wrekin’s crest of
light,

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er aU the boundless
plain ;

Till Bclvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,’

And Lincoln spc<l the message on o’er the wide vale of
Trent ;

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled
pile.

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Car
lisle.

Lord Macaulay, “ Lays oi Ancient Romo

.\XXVI

ELIZABETH AT TILBURY
(September, 1588)

Let them come, come never so proudly,

O er the green waves as giants ride ;
Silver clarions menacing loudly,

“ AU the Spams ” on their banners wide ;

BLIZABEl’n AT TILBURY

87

High on deck of the gilded galleys
Our light sailers they scorn below ; —

■ We will scatter them, plague, and shatter them,
Till their flag hauls down to their foe !

2 -For our oath we swear
By the name 'we bear.

By England’s Queen, and England free and fair, —
Her’s ever and her’s still, come life, come death 1
God save Elizabeth I

Sidonia, Recalde, and Lcjwa
Watch from their bidwarks in swarthy scorn.
Lords and Princes by Pliilip’s favour ; —

We by birthright are noble bom 1
Freemen l>om of the blood of freemen ;

Sons of Cre^y and Flodden are we 1
We shall sunder them, fire, and plunder them ;
English boats on an English sen !

And our oath we swear
By the name we bear.

By England's Queen, and England free and fair, —
Her’s ever and her’s still, come life, come death !
God save Eliwibeth I

Drake and Frobisher, Hawkins and Hownnl,
Raleigh, Cavendish, Cecil, and Brooke,

Hang like Avasps by the Flagships tower’d,

Sting their Avay through the thrice-piled oak I
Let them range their seven-mile crescent.

Giant galleons, canvas wide 1
Ours will harry them, board, and carry them,

. Plucking the plumes of the Spanish pride.

For our oath we swear
By the name we bear,

By England's Queen, and England free and fair, —
Her’s ever and her’s still, come life, come death I
God save Elizabeth I

Has God risen in wrath and scatter’d ?

Have His tempests smote them in scorn ?

' Past the Orcades, dumb and tatter’d,

’Mong sea-beasts do they drift forlorn ?

88

DA^^D GWYNN’S STORY

We were as Vioiis hungry for hattlc ;

God has made our haUle Hia owa !

God has scatter’d them, sunk, and shatter’d them :
Give the glory to Him alone 1
While our oath we swear
By the name we bear,

By England’s Queen, and England free and fair, —
Her’s ever and her’s still, come life, come death !
God save Elizabeth 1

Francis Turner Falgrave, '• Tho Visions of
England

xxxvii

DAVID GWYNN'S STORY OF HOW HE AND THE
GOLDEN SKELETON CRIPPLED THE GREAT
ARMADA SAILING OUT

{From “ Ghristvias at tho Mermaid”)

“ A galley lie ” they called my talc ; but he
Whose talk is with the deep kens mighty tales.

The man, I say, who helped to keep you free
Stands here, a truthful son of truthful Wales.

Slandered by England as a loose-lipped liar.

Banished from Ireland, branded rogue and thief.

Here stands that Gwynu whose life of torments dire
Heaven sealed for England, sealed in blood and fire^ —
Stands asking here Truth’s one reward, belief 1

And Spain shall tell, ■with pallid lips of dread.

This tale of mine — shall tell, m future days.

How Gwynn, the galley-slave, once fought and bled
For England when she moved in perilous ways ;

But say, ye gentlemen of England, sprung

From loins of men whose ghosts have still the sea —
Doth England — she who loves the loudest tongue —
Remember mariners whose deeds are sung

By waves where flowed their blood to keep her free ? -

DAVID -G^7YNN'S STORY • ,89

I see — see ev’n now — those ships of Spain ’

Gathered in Tagus’ mouth to make the spring ;

I feel the cursed oar, I toil again,

. And trumpets blare, and priests. and choir-hoys singj
And morning strikes with many a crimson shaft.

Through ruddy haze, four galleys rowing out —

Four galleys built to pierce the English craft,

Each swivel-gunned for raking fore and aft,

' Snouted like sword-fish, but ivith iron snout.

And one wc call the Princess^ one the Royal,

Diana one ; but ’tis the fell Basana
Where I am toiling, G\vynn, the true, the loyal,

Thinking of mighty Drake and Gloriana ;

For by their help Hope whispers me that I —

Whom ten hours’, daily travail at a stretch
‘ Has taught how sweet a thing it is to die —

May strike once more where flags of England fly,

Strike for myself and many a haggard wretch.

Tnic sorrow knows a tale it may not tell :

Again I feel the lash that tears my back j
■ Again I hear mine own blaspheming yell,

Answered by boatswain’s laugh and scourge’s crack ;
Again I feel the pang when trying to choke
- Rather than drink the wine, or chew the bread
Wherewith, when rest for meals would break the stroke.
They cram our mouths while still we sit at yoke ;

Again is Life, not Death, the shape of dread.

' By Finis terre there, comes a sudden gale.

And mighty .waves assault our trembling galley
\Vith blows that strike her waist as strikes a flail.

And soldiers cr}', “What saint shall bid her rally ”
Some slaves refuse to row, and some implore
“ The Dons to free them from the metal tether
By which their limbs are locked upon the oar ;

Some shout, in answer to the billows’ roar,

“ The Dons and we -will drink brine-wine together ”,

90

DAVID nU'VN’N'S STOUV

“ Bring up tlie sluvc/' I bwir ll>c ciptain cry,

“Wlio sank tlic golden galleon El Dorado.

The dog can steer."

'• Here sits the dog," rjiioth I,
“Who sank the ship of Commotlorc Medrado 1”

With l)cll-lit eyes, blistered by spray and min,

Sbinding upon the bridge, saith he to me ;

“ Hearken, thou piniU. — hold Medrado's banc 1 —

Freedom and gold arc thine, and thanks of Spain,

If thou eaiist take the galley through this sea.”

“Ay ! Ay ! " quoth f. The fools unlock me stmiglit I
And then ’tis 1 give orders to the Don,

Laughing ^^•ithin to hear the laugh of Fate,

Whose vrinning game I know liath just begun.

I mount the bridge when die.s the last red strc.ak
Of evening, and the moon seems fain for night
Oh then I see bcncatli the galley's bc,ak
A glow like Spanish auto's ruddy reck —

Oh then these eyes behold a wondrous sight!

A skeleton, but yet with living eyes —

A skeleton^ but yet with bones like gold —

Squats on the galley -beak, in wondrous wise,

And round liis brow, of high imperial mould,

A burning circle seems to shake and shine.

Bright, fiery bright, with many a living gem.

Throwing a radiance o'er the foam-lit brine :

“ 'Tis God’s Revenge,” methinks. “ Heaven sends for sign
Th.at bony shape — that Inca’s diadem."

At first Uie sign is only seen of me.

But well I know that God's Revenge bath come
To strike the Armada, set old ocean free.

And cleanse from stain of S])ain the beauteous foam.
Quoth I, “ How fierce soever be the levin
Spain’s hand can hurl — made mightier still for wrong
By that great Scarlet One whose hills arc seven —

Yea, ho^vsoever Hell may scoff at Heaven —

Stronger than Hell is God, though Hell is strong.”

DAVID GWYNN'S STORY

91

"The dog- can steer,’’ I laugh; "yea, Drake’s men kno-tv
■ How sea-dogs hold a ship to Biscay waves.’’

Ah I when I hid the soldiers go below,

Some 'nenth the hatches, some beside tlie slaves.

And bid them stack their muskets all in piles
Beside the foremast, covered by a sail.

The captives guess my plan — I see their smiles
As down the waist the cozened troop defiles.

Staggering and stumbling landsmen, faint and pale.

I sa3', they guess my plan — to send beneath
The soldiers to the benches where the slaves
Sit, armed with eager nails and eager teeth —

Hate's nails and teeth more keen than Spanish glaives,
Then wait until the tempest’s waxing might
' Shall reach its fiercest, mingling sea and sky,

Tlien seize the key, unlock the slaves, and smite
The.sea-sick soldiers in their helpless plight,

Then bid the Spaniards pull at oar or die.

Past Ferrol Bay each galley 'gins to stoop.

Shuddering before the Biscay demon’s breath.

DoAvn goes a prow — down goes a gaudy poop :

“ The Don’s Diana bears the Don to death,”

Quoth I, "and see the Princess plunge and willow
Doivn purple trough, o’er snowy crest of foam :

See ! See ! tlie Boyal, how she tries to follow
By many a glimmering crest and shimmering hollow,
Where gull and petrel scarcely dare to roam ”.

Now three queen-galleys pass Cape Finislerre ;

The Armada, dreaming but of ocean-storms.

Thinks not of mutineers -with shoulders bare,

Chained, bloody-wealed and pale, on galley-forms,
Each rower murmuring o’er my whispered plan.
Deep-burnt -within his brain in words of fire,

“ Rise, every man, to tear to death his man —

Yea, tear as only galley-captives can,

When God’s Revenge sings loud to ocean’s lyre.”

DAVID GWYNN’S STORY

ns

TnUer Uie spectre grows ’mid ocean’s din ;

Tlie captain sees the Skeleton and pales ;

I give the sign ; the slaves cry, “ Ho for Gwynn ! ”

“ Teach them,” quoth I, " the way we grip in Wales. ’’
And, leaping down where hateful boatswains shake,

I win the key — let loose a storm of slaves :

" When captives hold the whip, let drivers quake,”

They ciy ; " sit down, ye Dons, and row for Drake,

Or drink to England’s Queen in foaming waves

We leap ndown the hatches ; in the dark
We the Dons at random, till I see
A spark that trembles like a tinder-spark,

Waxing and brightening, till it seems to be
A fleshless skull, -with ej'es of joyful fire ;

Then, lo ! a bony shape with lifted hands —

A bony mouth that chants an anthem dire,

O’ertopping groans, o'ertopping Ocean’s quire —

A skeleton ^vith Inca’s diadem stands !

It sings the song I heard an Indian sing,

Chained by the ruthless Dons to bum at stake.

When priests of Tophet chanted in a ring,

Sniffing man’s flesh at roast for Christ His sake.

The Spaniards hear : they see : they fight no more ;

The}' cross their foreheads, but they dare not speak.
Anon the spectre, when the strife is o’er.

Melts from the dark, then glimmers ns before.

Burning upon the conquered galley's beak.

And now the moon breaks through the night, and shows
The Boyal bearing down upon our craft —

Then comes a broadside close at hand, which strows
Our deck with bleeding bodies fore and aft.

I take the helm ; I put the galley near ;

We grapple in silver sheen of moonlit surge.

Amid the Royal's din I laugh to hear
The curse of many a British mutineer.

The crack, crack, crack of boatswain’s biting scourge.

DA'^TD G^FYNN’S STORY. 93

"Ye scourge in vniu/' quoth I, “scourging for life

' Slaves who shall row no more to save the Don ” ;

For from the Boyal’s poop, above the strife.

Their captain gazes at our Skeleton !

■" What 1 is it thou. Pirate of Dorado ? "

He shouts in English tongue. And there, behold 1

Stands he, tlie devil's commodore, Medrado.

" Ay ! ay ! ’’ quoth I, " Spain owes me one strappado
For scuttling Philip's ship of stolen gold."

“I come for that strappado now," quoth I.

“ What means yon thing of burning bones ? '' he saith.

“ 'Tis God’s Revenge cries ‘ Bloody Spain shaU die ! ’

The king of El Dorado's name is Death.

Strike home, ye slaves, your hour is coming swift,"

I cry ; “strong hands are stretched to save you now ;

Show yonder spectre you are worth the gift."

But when the Boyal, captured, rides adrift,

I look ; the skeleton hath left our prow.

When all are slain, the tempest's brings have fled.

But still the sea is dreaming of the storm :

Par down the offing glows a spot of red,

My soul knows well it hath that Inca’s form.

" It lights," quoth I, " the red cross banner of Spain
There on the flagship where Medina sleeps —

Hell’s banner, wet with sweat of Indians’ pain.

And tears of women yoked to treasure train.

Scarlet of blood for ivhich the New World weeps.

There on the dark the flagship of the Don
To me seems luminous of the spectre’s glow ;

But soon an arc of gold, and then the Sun,

Rise o’er the reddening billows, proud and slow ;

Then, through the curtains of the morning mist,

That take all shifting colours as they shake,

I see the great Armada coil and twist

MUes, miles along the ocean's amethyst.

Like an enormous, rainbow-thited snake.

04

IVRV

And, when Ihc hnzy veils of Moni arc Ihinncd,

That snake accursed, ivilb wings wliicli mvcll and piifT
Before the slackening horses of the wind.

Turns into shining siiips that tack and lufT.

“ Bchoid," quoth I, “their floating citadels.

The same the priests have vouclied for inuskct-pr(Kif,
Gimcks and hulks and nimble caravels,

That sailed with us to sound of Lisbon hells, —

Yea, sailed from Tagus’ mouth, for Christ’s behoof.

For Clirist’s behoof they sailed ; sec how they go
With that red skeleton to show the way
TJiere sitting on Medina’s stem aglow —

A hundred sail and forty-nine, men say ;

Behold them, brothers, gidleon and gallcasse —

Their dizened turrets bright of manj' a plume,

Their gilded poops, their shining guns of brass.

Their trucks, their flags — bchoid them, how they pass — ■
With God’s Ucvenge for figurehead — to Doom ! "

Theodore ira((i-Di<)i/c»i. ‘‘The Coming of Love,
and otlioT poems

.vx.wni

IVKY

[A Song of the Hugitcnots)

(4 MAuai, 1590)

Now glory to the Loial of Hosts from whom all glories are !

And gloiy to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre I

Now let there be the merrj’ sound of music and of dance.

Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant
land of France I

And thou, Rochelle, our own Roclielle, proud city of the
waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning
daughters.

As thou Wert constant in our ill, be jojmus in our joy.

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought th}'
walls annoy.

miY

95

Hurrah ! Hurrali ! a' single field hath turned the chance of
war;

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre.

Oil ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of
day,

We saw the army of the League drawn out in long army ;

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,

And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egniont’s Flemish
spears.

TJiere rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our
land ;

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a trunclieon in his
hand ;

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine’s empurpled
flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of
war,

To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

Tlie King is come to marshal, us. In all his armour drest.

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant
crest.

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ;

He' looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stem and
high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from Aving to
Aving,

DoAvn all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord
the King ! " <•

“ And if my standard-bearer fidl, as fall full well he may,

For never saAV I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

Press where ye see my Avhite plume shine, amidst the
ranks of Avar,

And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre.”

Hurrah I the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring
. culverin.

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andrd's plain.

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and AJmayne.

9G

rVTlY

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,

Charge for the golden lilies, — ^iipon them with the lance.

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in
rest,

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white
crest ;

And in thej'^ hurst, and on they rushed, whOe like a guid-
ing star.

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turned
his rein.

D’Aumale hath cried for quarter. Tlie Flemish count is
slain.

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay
gale;

The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and-
cloven mail.

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van,

" Remember St. Bartholomew,” was passed from man to
man.

But out spake gentle Henry, “ No Frenchman is my foe ;

“ Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren

go"

Oh ! was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war,

As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldiet of Navarre ?

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France
to-day;

And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey.

But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ;

And the good Lord of Rosny has ta’en the comet white.

Our own true Maximilian the comet white hath ta’en.

The comet white with crosses black, the flag of false
Lorraine.

Up with it high ; unfurl it wide ; that all the host may
know

How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought
His Church such woe.

Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest
point of war.

Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henrj’ of Navarre.

IVRY

]01

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ;

Weep, weep, and rend your Jiair for tliose who never shaL
return.

Ho ! Pliilip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles.

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spear-
men’s souls.

Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be
bright ;

Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-
night.

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised
the slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise; and the valour of the
brave.

Then glorj' to His lioly name, from whom all glories are ;

And gloiy to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre.

Lord Macattlay, “ Lays of Anoiont Eome ".

7

90

a

VI

• CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD

“Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance arc relieved,

Or not at all."

“Hamlet,” rv. 8.

“ What though the field be lost?

All is not lost; th’ unconquerable will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate.

And courage never to submit or yield.’'

John ilUton, “ Paradise Lost,” Book I.

" The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things ;

There is no armour against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on Icings."

James Shirley, “ Ckintention ot Ajai and Ulysses

“ He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,

Bui with his heener eye
The axe's edge did try ;

Nor calVd the Gods, with vulgar spite,

To vindicate his helpless right;

But bmo’d his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.”

Andrew Marvell, “Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Ketnrn fr«m
Ireland

98 ,

7t!K CAVAU};ns’ MAUi

•»•*"' CAVAUlinS' MAlKUr I.USDOK
imnv^'A

(N<n> Kft n, tfJl-j

Tollin'*''! Irttiorr'J lirAVf' Ci^VAJifix J
Ti< {inr'>* r<*: rioirr!) fttul Cfttn’jj:

Strlf'.''. •iriUf T-Mt inslrh ujj jour
Ariit }v' tor l^>!ul<ij> town!

Til'- ODjv-riaS Iwrlo’., 00*41 n jif\'j'

7V> fHir A^rrsi^’li^ JiOr',

‘'Vtn!' «]> ‘.Is'- ii’lrt- of lirr jlifiiliV
I rom j>ll li*T InitwlreA npiron

Tfin Strain! rrvt'.ttnU trilh nJtnrS;-',

Tl(»' 7.iii(t”o «■;(!> uKTolmiii' «T;:hi,

Afift hjjtiti'-i •li.'srul o;r lirjt,*r-)« riicckt,

Am! t4-)4rN in iron c vr^ ;

Ainl, jixtr witli ooil tutli frlf;!it,

fjif'h }'/inl<sn Ci-rMmlth-i'

tlfttJi 4'U(tniort'il fortJi to jir.tvrr «n') fijiltl
Tftr Ito'dtitln^At!^ «<f llu'- City.

Am! wvoi l/'mlnn'* lio.ir

TJt<’ tlnimliT of out (tniiii,

Ami l^<(i'!oii'»' ilifm"', iri wiliii-r frAr.
cry, " AhoA ; thry rotnc 1“

I'iin;:' ill'- f.-iM-im*. 1« tr up llir ‘■jiSkt-N ;

Ami formnnlj om* rtml nil.

Ormn, (loti'O tritlj .nil timir trainril-luntl pikut,
Do'vn wiih Uie’ir minUliuUl mtiU.

Qirfirti-r ?— »rfml fill your whiiitn^ nojnr,

Yc rrcrrniit 'pnirti i»f fr.ntd I

No qiorlr-r! 'riiiiik on Slmtlortl, lioyn.
So'piartf-rJ lliltik ott l,ninl.

U'lmt hoi 71)(; cmvf-n »l-tv'm mliro.

On! Tnimplr th"iii to tnntl.

No iju-irtcr!— C’ii.nrfjr. No qiwrii-rt— Fm-,

No qiwrlr-r!^ — lUinx! I — llloml 1— Ulooil !

h'l

90

Nov'*

O

Their lean divines, of solemn brow,
Sworn foes to tVirone and steeple^ -
From an unwonted pulpit now -
Shall edify the people ;

Till the tired hangman, in despair,

Shall corse the blunted shears.

And vainly pinch, and scrape, and tear,
Around their leathern ears.

We’U hang, above his own Guildhall,
The City’s grave recorder,

And on the den of thieves we'll fall.
Though Pym should speak to order.
In vain the lank-haired gang shall try
To cheat our martial law ;

In vain shall Lenthall trembling cry
That strangers must withdraw.

Of Bench and Woolsack, tub and Chair,
We’ll build a glorious pyre.

And tons of rebel parchment there
Shall crackle in the fire.

With them shall perish, cheek by jowl.
Petition, psalm, and libel.

The Colonel’s canting muster-roll,

'The Chaplain’s dog-eared bible.

We’ll tread a measure round the blaze
Where England’s pest expires.

And lead along the dance’s maze
The beauties of the Friars :

iHI MARCH TO LONDON ,

!. r\vd.\ ' •

Where next ? In 'sooth there lacks no witch,
Brave lads, to tell us where :

Sure London’s sons be passing rich.

Her daughters wondrous fair ;

And let that dastard be the theme
Of many a Board’s derision,

Who quails for sermon, cufiF, or scream'

Of any sweet Precisian,

CAVALIER TONES

101

Then smiles in everj' face shall shine,

And joy in every S'"’!.

Bring forth, bring fr'Xh the oldest wine,

And crown the largest bowl.

And os with nod and laugh ye sip
The gobl t's rich carnation,

Whose bursting bubbles seem to tip
The wink of invitation ;

Drink to those names — those glorious names.
Those names no time shall sever, —

Drink, in a draught as deep as Tlmines,

Our Church and King for ever I

Lord Macaulay, “ Poetical Works

XL

CAVALIER TUNES

^ MARCIUNO ALONG

(From “Dramatic Bovianecs and Lyrics ’’)

Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King,

Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing :

And, pressing a troop unable to stoop

And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop.

Marched them aloug, fifty-score strong.

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles I Pjun and such carles

To the Devil that prompts ’em their treasonous paries !

Cavaliers, up 1 Lips from the cup.

Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup

Till you’re {Ohortis) marching along, fifty-score strong,

Oreat-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Hampden to Hell, and his obsequies’ knell
Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well 1
England, good cheer I Rupert is near 1
Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here

{Chorus) Marching along, fifty-score strong.

Great-hearted gentleniem, singing this song ?

102

CAVALIEU TUNT,S

Then, Ooil for King Clmrles! Pyrn onil his sn.nrlK
To the Devil that pricks on such pcslilcnl carles 1
Hold liy Ihc right, you double your wight ;

So, onward lo Nottingham, fresh for the fight.

(Chonis) March ice along, (if (y-acore strait (I,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing (hh song !

oivr. uocsr.

King Charles, and who’ll do him right now ?

King Charles, and who’s ripe for fight now r
Give n rouse : here's, in llcll’s desjiitc now,

King Charles 1

Who gave me the goods that went since ?

Who raised me the house that sank once ?

Who heljKid me to gold I spent since ?

Who found me in wine you drank once ?

{Chons) King Charles, and icho'll do him right now?

King Charles, and who's rtjv for fight now f
Give a rotisc: here’s, in Bell's dc.sgdlc note,
King Charles !

To whom used my hoy George qualT else,

By the old fool’s side that begot him ?

For whom did he cheer and laugh else,

While Noll’s damned troopers shot him ?

{Chorus) King Charles, and who'll do him right now t
King Charles, and who's riye for fight now?
Give a rouse: here’s, i» JJeB’s despite now,
King Charles !

BOOT ANn SMWLE

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !

Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray,

{Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Ride past the suburbs, asleep ns you’d sav ;

Mnny^s the friend there, will listen and pray
" God’s luck to gallants that strike up the lay,

{Chorus) “ Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! "

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY 103

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,

Flouts Castle Brancepetb tbe Roundbeacls’ array :

\Vlio laugbs, “ Good fellows ere this, by my fay,

{GJionis) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! "

Wbo ? My wife Gertrude ; that, honest and gay,

Lnuglis Avhen you talk of surrendering, “ Nay !

“ I've better counsellors ; what counsel they?"

(Chorus) “ Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! ”

Robert Brotoning, “Poetical Works”.

XU

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
(About 1645)

(From “ Inicasta : Odes, Sonnets, Songs, etc.")

Tell me not, s^veet, I am unkind, —

Tliat from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,

Tbe first foe in the field ;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, tob, shall adore ;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much.

Loved I not honour more.

Richard Lovelace, “ Poems ”.

XUI

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY

(by ODADIAH BINn-THEm-KINOS-IN-CHAINS-AND-TnEin-NOnLES-

IN-LINKS-OF-inoX, SEHOEANT OF IBETON’s BEOfMENT,

14 JUNE, 1645 )

Oh, wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,
With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red ?
And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?
And whence be the grapes of the winepress which ye
tread ?

101

TIIK JlA’lTLi; or XASr.llY

oil, evil 'vn? the root, nrul liUtrr wni ibe fruil.

And criniioii llic julee nf the viiilftiie w’lilch wi- trod ;
For we tmmiiled on the tlirtinp ot the li.iu^lily kikI the

WIio s-'ilc in till' IiiRli jd.ices,

niid 'len' the snnl> of GM.

Il wos nlumt the ntvon of n f^lorious »Uy of done,

Tlmt wc viw their hnnin-rs d.Mice mnl tUclr eiut7v'‘ti'^
shine ;

And the Mnn of Wood vrn"; Ihetr, with Id' Ion" e'l'eneed
iintr,

And Astley, nnd Sir MtimradoUe, nnd Itujn-.rt of the
Ithinc.

Like n sen'.nnt of (lie fxini, with hir lldde nnrl lii^ swonl,
Tlio (ieiiend rotle /iloni» ox to form lu for the fi;;ht,

When n inuninirini: sound liroke <mt, nnd Mvellctl into a
slioiit,

Among the godless horsemen u|Hni the tyrant'a right.

And Imrk ! hki- the roar of the lilllow*; on the shore.

Tlic erj’ of battle rises nlong their charging line •

For God ! forlhoCnnscl for the ('hnrch ! for the lyiws !
For Charles, King of F.iiglnnd, and lliifierl of tlie Jlhiin; !

The furious Genimu enmes, with hi*, clarions and his drums,
His bravwji of Alsalin, and pages ofWldleball;

They arc hiirsling on our flanks. Grasp your pikes— close
your ranks ;

For Itupcrl never comes l>ul to comjuer or to fall.

Tlie 3 'are here ! — They msli on ! We are broken — We arc
gone !

Our left is borne licfore them like stubble on the blast,
O Lord, put forth Thy might ! O Lord, defend the right I
Stand back to liaek in God’s ijnine, and fight it to Uie last.

Stout Skippon hath a wound ; the centre hath given ground -•
Hark ! linrk ! what means the trampling of horsemen on
our rc.ar ?

Whose banner do I see, Imys ? Tis he, tliank God, 'tis he,
boys I —

Bear up another minute I brave Oliver is here.

, THE BATTLE OF NASEBY 106

Their heads all stooping lowj their points all in a tow,

. Like a 'whirlwind on the forest, like a deluge on the dykes,
Oiir cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some sjife nook to hide
Their cowarn heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar ;
And he — he turns, he flies ; shame on those cruel eyes
That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.

Ho ! comrades, scour the plain ; and, ere ye strip the slain.
First give another stab to make your guest secure.

Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and
lockets.

The tokens of the ^vanton, the plunder of the poor.

Fools ! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts
were gay and bold.

When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day ;
And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the
rocks.

Lead forth her tn\vny cubs to howl above the prey.

Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell
and fate,

And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades.
Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths.
Your stage-plays, and your sonnets, your diamonds and
your spades ?

Down, do^vn, for ever do^vn, with the mitre and the cro'wn.
With the Belial of the Court and the Mammon of the
Pope ;

There is woe in Oxford halls ; there is wail in Durham’s
stalls 1

The Jesuit smites his bosom ; the Bishop rends his cope.

And She of the Seven Hills shall mourn her children’s ills,-
. And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's
sword ;

\. . .

wo THE EXECUTION OF. MONTROSE

And the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they
hear

What the hand of God hatli wrought for the Houses and
the Word.

Lord Macaulay, “ Poetical Works”.

.\UII

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE
(21 May, 1650)

Come hitlier, Evan Cameron !

Come, stand beside iny knee —

I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.

There's shouting on the mountain-side.
There’s war within the blast —

Old faces look upon me,

Old forms go trooping past :

I hear the pibroch wailing
Amidst the din of fight.

And my tUm spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night.

ii

'Twas 1 that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows.

What time the plaided clans came down
To battle -with Montrose.

I've told thee how the Southrons fell
Beneath the broad claymore,

And how we smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlochy’s shore.

I’ve told thee how we swept Dundee,
And tamed the Lindsay’s pride ;

But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE

iii

A traitor sold him to his foes ;

O deed of deathless shame !

I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet ,
With one of Assynt’s name —

Be it upon the mountain’s side,

Or yet, within the glen.

Stand he in martial gear alone.

Or backed by arraiid men —

Face him, as thou wouldst face the man
Who wronged thy sire’s renowi ;
Remember of what blood thou art,

And strike the caitiff down !

iv

Tliey brought him to the Watergate,

Hard bound with hempen sjxm,

As though they held a lion lliere,

And not a fenceless man.

They set him high upon a cart —

The hangman rode below —

They drew his hands behind his back,

And bared his noble brow.

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash.
They cheered, the common throng.

And blew the note wth yell and sliout.
And bade them jiass along.

V

It would have made a brave man’s heart
Grow sad and sick that day.

To watch the keen malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.

There stood the Whig west-country lords,
In balcony and bow ;

There sat their gaunt and withered dames,
And their daughters all a-row.

And every open window
Was full as full might be
With black-robed Covenanting carles,

That goodly sport to see !

THE EXECDTION OF MOIOTIOSE

vi

But when he came, though pale and wan,
He looked so great and high,

So noble was his manly front,

So calm his steadfast eye ; —

The rabble rout forbore to shout.

And each man held his breath,

For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to lace with death.

And then a mournful shudder
Through all the people crept,

And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.

vii

But onwards — always onwards,

In silence and in gloom.

The dreary pageant laboured.

Till it reach e<l the house of doom.

Then first a woman’s voice was heard
In jeer and laughter loud,

And an angry- cry- and a hiss arose
From the heart of the tossing crowd :
Then as the Grreme looked upwards.

He saw the ugly smile
Of him who sold his king for gold —

The master-fiend Argyle *

viii

The Marquis gazed a moment.

And nothing did he say.

But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale.
And he turned his eyes away.

The painted harlot by Iris side.

She shook through every limb.

For a roar like thunder swept the street.
And hands were clenched at him ;

And a Saxon soldier cried aloud,

“ Back, coward, from thy place !

For seven long 3'ears thou hast not dared
To look him in the face."

THE. EXECUTION OF MONTROSE
ix

Hnd 1 been there wth sword in hnnd,

And fifty Camerons by.

That day through high Dunedin's streets
Had pealed tlic slogan-cry. ■

Not all their troops of trampling horse,

Nor might of mailed men —

•Not all the rebels in the south
Had home us backwards then !

Once more his foot on Highland heath
Hnd trod ns free ns nir,

Or J, nnd all who bore my name,

Been laid around him there !

X

It might not be. They placed liim next
Within the solemn hall.

Where once the Scottish kings were throned
Amidst their nobles all.

But there was dust of vulgar feet
On that polluted floor.

And perjured traitors filled the place
Where good men sale before.

With savage glee came Wnrristoun
To read the mtirderous doom ;

And then uprose the great Montrose
, In tlie middle of the room.

xi

“ Now, by my faith as belted knight,

And by the name I bear.

And by the bright Saint Andrew’s cross
That waves above us there —

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath —

And oh, that such should be 1 —

By that dark stream of roj'al blood
That lies 'twxt you and me — ,

I have not sought in battle-field
A wreath of such renown,

Nor dared I hope on my dying day
To win the martyr’s crown 1

109

110

the execdtjon of montbose

xii

” There is a chamber far away
Where sleep the good and brave.

But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my father’s grave.

For truth and right, ’gainst treason’s might.
This hand hath alwaj’s striven.

And ye raise it up for a witness still
In the eye of earth and heaven.

Then nail my head on yonder tower —

Give ever}' town a limb —

And God who made shall gather them ;

1 go from you to Him ! ”

xiii

'The morning dawned full darkly,

The rain came dashing down,

^\nd the jagged streak of the levin-bolt
Lit up the gloomy town ;

The thunder crashed across the heaven.

The fetal hour was come ;

Vet aye broke in with muffled beat.

The 'larum of the drum.

TTiere was madness on the earth below
And anger in the sky.

And young and old, and rich and poor,
Gime forth to see him die.

xiv

Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet !

How dismal ’tis to see
The great tall spectral skeleton,

The ladder and the tree !

Hark ! hark ! it is the clash of arms —

The bells begin to toll —

“ He is coming 1 he is coming 1
God’s mercy on his soul ! ’’

One last long peal of thunder —

The clouds are cleared away.

And the glorious sun once more looks down
Amidst the dazzling day.

- THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE

XV

“ He is coming ! he is coming ! ”

Like a bridegroom from his room.

Came the hero from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom.

There was glory on his forehead,

There was lustre in his eye.

And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to die ;

There was colour in his visage.

Though the cheeks of all were wan,

And they marvelled as they saw him pass.
That great and goodly man !

xvi

He mounted up the scaffold.

And he turned him to the crowd ;

But they dared not trust the people,

So he might not speak aloud.

But he looked upon the heavens,

And they rvere clear and blue,

And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through !

Yet a black and miirky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,

As though the thunder slept within —

All else was calm and still.

xvii

The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near.

As you have seen the ravens flock
Around the dying deer.

He would not deign them Avord nor sign.
But alone he bent the knee ;

And veiled his face for Christ’s dear gmee
Beneath the gallows-tree.

Then radiant and serene he rose,

■ And cast his cloak aAVay :

For he had ta’en his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.

112

bonny DUNDEE

wnii

A beam of light fell o'er him,

Like a glory round the shriven.

And he climbed the lofty ladder
As it were the path to heaven.

Then came a flash from out the cloud,

And a stunning thunder-roll ;

And no man dared to look aloft.

For fear was on every soul.

There was another heavy sound,

A bush and then a grroan ;

And darkness swept across the sky —

The work of death was done !

William Edmonstounc Aytoun, " Lays of the
Scottish Cavaliere".

xuv

BONNY DUNDEE
{From “ The Doom of Devorgoil ”) ■

( 3685 )

To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver'se who spoke,

“ Ere the King's crown shall fell there are crowns to be
broke ;

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me.

Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee !

Come, fill up ray cup ; come, fel up my can ;

Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men ;

Come, open the West Port, and let me gang free.

And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! ”

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street.

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat ;

But the Provost, douce man, said, “Just e'en let him be ;
The Gude Town is weel quit of that deil of Dundee ! ”

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,

Ilk carline was Byting and sbakiag her pow ;

But the young plants of grace they looked coutbie and slee.
Thinking “Luck to thy bonnet, uiou Bonny Dundee !”

bonny.'bundee

> . bonny

a, rrossnmrket^as crammed,

There ^P^or the boimeta of Bonny
As they ^vatch

Attlxetossoftbe Castle rock,

Be .?"««*“ % he «

- . «”■> "“ '“"” , ..

For the love et the be" . . . „„ he gee. I

Or that low kes the bevonil Forth ;

Bill's beyond Fe«’^^f^^;,*^^here’s chiefs in the

ii There are bills oey Lowlands, ther

If there’s lords m the

north , -pumewassals ^ny Dundee \

,, - There are wild Dun „f Bonny

, Will cry ‘hoigh r^^ened hull-hide ;

uThere'shr^ on th^targ^'^Bat Rsh W,

There’s Dundee '

The brass shall he u Dundee

-At the toss of then the rocks,

, » Away to the ‘"'iTl^oS’with tbe fox^

1 drutQB closnett, pierraiston s

^iA Died away the

lie

the BURIAL-MAECH of DUNDEE

And a cry of exultation

From the bearded -warriors rose ;

For -we loved the house of Claver'se,
And vre thought of good Montrose.
But he raised his hand for silence —

“ Soldiers 1 I have sworn a vow ;

Ere the evening star shall glisten
On SchehaUion’s lofty brow.

Either -we shall rest in triumph,

Or another of the Gnemes
Shall have died in battle-harness
For his Country and King James 1
Think upon the Royal Martyr —

Think of -what his race endure —
Think of him -Nvhom butchers murdered
On the field of Magus Muir : —

By his sacred blood I charge ye.

By the ruined hearth and shrine —

By the blighted hopes of Scotland,

By your injuries and mine —

Strike this day as if the anvil
Lay beneath your blows the while,

Be they covenanting traitors,

Or the brood of &se Argyle !

Strike ! and drive the trembling rebels
Backwards o’er the stormy Forth ;
Let them tell their pale Convention
How they fared within the North.
Let them tdl that Highland honour
Is not to be bought nor sold.

That we scorn their prince’s anger
As we loathe his foreign gold.

Strike 1 and when the fight is over.

If ye look in vain for me.

Where the dead are lying thickest,
Search for him that was Dundee ! ”

iii

Loudly then the hills re-echoed
With our answer to his call.

But a deeper echo sounded
In the bosoms of us all.

TIIK BOUIAI^MAUCIl OF DUNDKE

117

For the hinds of wide Brcadallwnc,

• Not n man who licnrd him speak
Would that day have left the battle,
Uuming eye and flushing check
Told the clansmen’s fierce emotion.

And they hanlcr drew their brcatli ;

For their souls were strong within them,
Stronger than the grasp of death.

Soon we heard a chairengc-trumpct
Sounding in the Pass below,

And the distant tnimji of horses.

And the voices of the foe :

Down we crouched amid the bracken,

Till the Lowland ranks drew near.
Panting like the hounds in summer
When they scent the stately deer.

From the dark defile emerging.

Next we saw the squadrons come,
Ixislie's foot and Leven's troopers
Marching to the tuck of drum.

Through the scattered wood of birches.
O’er the broken ground and heath,
Wound the long battalion slowly
Till they gained the plain beneath ;
Then we bounded from our covert —

Judge how looked the Saxons then,
When tliey saw the rugged mountain
Start to life with armid men 1
Like a tempest down the ridges
Swept a hurricane of steel.

Rose the slogan of Macdonald —

Flashed the broadsword of Loclicil !
Vainly sped the withering volley
'Mongst the foremost of our band —

On we poured until we met them,

Foot to foot, and hand to hand.

Horse and man went down like drift-wood
MHien the floods are blaek at Yule,

And their carcasses are whirling
In the Garry’s deepest pool.

THE nUlUAr^MAltCT! OF DirNDRE

llfi

Horse mul men went down before ns —
Livinp foe tlicir lurried none
On the field of Killiccmnkie,

When that stubborn fight was done !

!v

And the evening star was shining
On SchehiUion's distant head,

When we wiped our bloody broadswords,
And returned to count the death
There we found him gashed and gory,
Stretched upon the cumbered plain.
As he fold tis where to seek him.

In the thickest of the shiin.

And a smile was on his visage,

For within his dying ear
Pealed tlic joyful note of triumph,

And the clansmen's clamorous cheer ;
So, amidst the ImtUe's thunder,

Shot, and steel, and scorching (lame,
In the gloty of his manhood
Passed the qViril of the Graunc !

V

Open wide tlie vaults of Alholl,

UTicrc the Ironej; of heroes rest —
Open svidc the hullowcrl portals
To receive another guest !

Last of Scots, and last of freemen —
laist of all that dauntless race,

Who would rather die unsullied
Than outlive the land’s disgrace !

O thou lion-hearted warrior !

Reck not of the nfler-time :

Honour may he deemed dishonour.
Loyalty be called a crime.

Sleep in peace with kindred ashes
Of the noble and the true,

Hands that never iailed tlieir country.
Hearts that never baseness knew.

WILLY GILLILAND 110

Sleep ! — nnd Ull the latest trumpet
Wakes the dead from earth and sea,

Scotland shall not boast a braver
Chieftain than our own Dundee !

William Edmoustouiio Aytoun, "Lays ol tho
Scottish Cavallcts’’.

XI.VI

WILLY GILLILAND
(A7t Ulster Ballad)

(lG79 on 1680)

Up in the moitnbtin solitudes, and in a rebel ring,

He has worshipped Gotl upon the hill, in spite of Church
and King,

And scaled his treason with Ins blood on Bolhwcll l)ridgc
he hath ;

So he must fly his father's land, or he must die the death ;

For comely Cluvcrhouse has come along witii grim Dalzcll,

And his smoking rooftree testifies Uicy’vc done their errand
well.

In vain to fly his enemies he fled his native land ;

Hot persecution waited him upon the Cnrriek strand ;

His name was on tlic Cnrriek cross, a price was on his
head,

A fortune to the man that brings liiin in alive or dead 1

And so on moor and mounbiiii, from the Lagan to the ,
Bann,

From house to house, and hill to hill, he lurked an outlawed
■ man.

At last, when in false company he might no longer bide,

He staid his houseless wanderings upon the Collon side ;

There in a cave all underground he laired his Jieathy den —

Ah, many a gentleman was fain to earth like hill-fox then 1

With hound and fishing-rod he lived on hill and stream, by
day;

At night, betwixt his fleet greyhound and his bonny marc
he lay.

120

IVILLY GILLILAND

It was a summer evening, and, mellowing and still,
Glenwhiny to the setting sun lay Ijare finm hill to hUl ;

For all that valley pastoral held neither house nor tree.

But spread abroad and open all, a fidl fair sight to see ;
From Slemish foot to Collon top lay one unbroken green,
Save where, in many a silver coil, the river glanced be-
tween.

./Viid on the river’s grassj’ bank, even from the morning
grey,

He at the angler’s pleasant sport had spent the summer
day ;

Ah ! many a time and oft I’ve spent the summer day from
dawn,

And wondered, when the sunset came, where time and care
had gone,

Along the reaches curling fresh, the wimpling pools and
streams,

MTiere he that day his cares forgot in those delightful
dreams.

His blithe work done, upon a bank the outlaw rested now.
And laid the basket from his back, the bonnet from his
brow ;

And there, his hand upon the Book, his knee upon the sod.
He filled the lonely N-nllej' with the gladsome word of God ;
And for a persecuted kirk, and for her mart 3 'rs dear,

And against a godless Church and king, he spoke up loud
and clear.

And now, upon his homeward way, he crossed the Collon
high,

And over bush and bank and brae he sent abroad his
eye;

And all w.is darkening peacefully in grej’ and purple haze,
Tlie thrush w.as silent in the banks, the lark upon the
braes —

When suddenly shot up a blaze — from the cave’s mouth it
came.

And troopers steeds and troopers’ caps are glancing in the
same 1

121

WILOV GILLILAND

•Tie crouched nraoug the heather, and he saw them as he

With three long yells at parting, ride lightly cast away ;

Then down with hcjny heart he came, to sorry cheer came
he,

For ashes black were cnickling where the green whins used
to be.

And, stretched among the prickly coomb, his heart's blood
smoking round.

From slender nose to breast-bone cleft, lay dead his good
greyhound !

"Tlicy’ve slain m}- dog, the Philistines ! they've tn’en my
hotiny marc ! " —

He plunged into llic smoky hole — no Iwnny beast was
there;

He groped bencatlj his burning bed (it burned him to the
l)onc).

Where Ids good weapon used to be, but broadsword there
was none ;

lie reeled out of the stifling den, and sal down on a stone.

And in the shadows of the night 'twas thus he made his
moan —

" 1 am a houseless outcast; 1 have neither bed nor Ijoard,

Nor living thing to look upon, nor comfort save the Lord,

Yet many a time were belter men in worse extremity :

Who succoured them in their distress, He now will succour
me;

He now will succour me I know : and, by His hoi}' name,

ril make the doers of Uds deed right dearly rue tlie same!

“ My Iwnnv marc 1 I've ridden you when Clavcr'sc rode
iK-hind,

And from the thumbscrew and the lioot you bore me like
the wind ;

And, while I have the life voo saved, on your sleek flank,

I swear,

Episcopalian rowel shall never ruffle hair !

Tltough sword to meld they’ve left me none — vet Wallace .
sright, I wL,

Good battle did on Irvine side wi' waur sveapon than tins.”

122

WJl.LY GILLILAND

His fishing-rod -with bolli his hands he griped it as he
spoke.

And, where the butt and top were spliced, in pieces twain
he broke ;

The limber lop he cast away, with all its gear abroad.

But, grasping the tough hickory butt, with spike of iron
shod.

He ground the sharp spear to a point; then pulled his
bonnet do\vu,

And, meditating black revenge, set forth for Girrick town.

Tlie sun shines bright on Girrick wall, and Girrick castle
grey.

And up thine aisle, Sjiint Nicholas, has ta’en his morning
way ;

And to the North-gate sentinel displayeth far and near
Sea, hill, and tower, and all thereon, in deivy freshness
clear.

Save where, Imhind a ruined wall, himself alone to Hew,
Is peering from the ivy-green a bonnet of the blue.

The sun shines red on Garrick wall, and Garrick Castle
old.

And all the western buttresses have changed their grey for
gold ;

And from thy shrine. Saint Nicholas, the pilgrim of the
sky

Hath gone in rich farewell, as fits such royal votary ;

But, as his last red glance he takes down past black Slieve-
a-true

He leaveth where he found it first, the bonnet of the
blue.

Again he makes the turrets grey stand out before the hill,
Constant as their foundation rock, there is the bonnet
still!

And now the gates are opened, and forth in gallant show
Prick jeering grooms and burghers blythe, and troopers in
. a row ;

But one has little care for jest, sd hard bested is he
to nde the outlaw's bonny more, for this at last is she !

,123

' THE-SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN

Down comes her master -with ft roar, her rider with ft groan,:

The iron and the hickory are through and through him
gone ! ‘

He lies a corpse ; and where he sat, the outlaw sits again,

And once more to his bonny mare he gives the spur and
rein ; . _

Then, some with sword, and some with gun, they ride and
nm amain

But sword and gun, and whip and spur that day they plied
• in vain !

Ah ! little thought Willy Gilliland, when he on Skerry side

Drew bridle first, and wiped his brow after that weary ride,

That where he lay like hunted brute, a cavem’d outlaw'
lone,

Broad lands and yeomen tenantry should yet be there his
own ;

Yet so it was ; and still from him descendants not a few

Draw birth and lands, and, let me trust, draw love of Free-
dom too.

Sir Savmol Ferguson,'* Iajs of tho Wostom Gaol

, _ xnvii

THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN

(1688)

A good sword and a trusty hand !

A merry heart and true 1
. King James's men shall understand
Wlmt Cornish lads can do.

And have they fixed the where and when ?

And shall Trelawny die ?

-Here’s twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why I

Out spake their captain brave and hold,

A merry wight was he :

“ If London Tower were Michael’s hold
We’ll set Trelawny free 1

A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD

12-J

M'e’ll cross the Tamar, land to land,

The Severn is no stay, —

With “ one and all,” and hand in hand.

And who shall bid us nay ?

" And when we come to London AVall,

A pleasant sight to view,

Ojmc forth I come forth, ye cowards all 1
Here's men as good ns you.

“Treln^rn}' he’s in keep and hold,

Trela-wny he may die ;

But here’s twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why 1 ”

Robert Stephen Eatoker, “ Pooms”.

XLvm

A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD, OR THE BURST-
ING OF THE GUNS

(10, 11 Auodst, 1690)

Sarsfield went out the Dutch to rout.

And to take and break their cannon ;

To mass went he at half-past three,

And at four he crossed the Shannon,

Tirconnel slept. In dream Ids thoughts
Old fields of victory ran on ;

And the chieftains of Thomond in Limerick’s towers
Slept well by the banks of Shannon.

He rode ten miles and he cross'd the ford.

And couch’d in the wood and waited ;

Till, left and right, on march’d in sight
That host which the true men hated.

” Charge 1” Sarsfield cried ; and the green hill side
As they charged replied in thunder ;

They rode o cr the plain and they rode o’er the slain,
And the rebel rout lay under. "

A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD ' 126

The spark flash’d out — like a sailor's shout
The sound into heaven ascended ;

The hosts of the sky made to earth reply,

And the thunders twain -were blended I

Sarsfield went out the Dutch to rout.

And to take and break their cannon ; —

A century after, Sarsfield’s laughter
Was echoed from Dungannon.

Aubrey de Fere, “Iniafail

VII

ENGLAND AND EUROPE

(fROJI CREMONA TILL AFTER WATERLOO)

Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,

Nor man nor fwtd hath fallen so far.

Byron, " Ode to Napoleon

W/icR lawyers strive to heal a breach,

And parsons practise what they preach ;

Then little Bouey he'll pounce dcnon.

And maich his men on London toipn.

Old Song.

XLIX

CREMOiVA

(1702)

The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall ;

The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the citj'' wall ;

They have marched from far away
Ere the dawning of the day,

And the morning saw them masters of Cremona.

There’s not a man to whisper, there's not a horse to neigh.
Of the footmen of Lorraine and the riders of Dupres ;
They have crept up every street.

In the market-place tliey meet.

They are holding every vantage in Cremona

12C

CREMONA

127

The Marshal Villeroy he has started from his bed ;

Tlie Marshal Villeroy has no wg upon his head ;

“ I have lost my men ! ” quoth he,

“ And my men they have lost me,

And I sorely fear vre both have lost Cremona ”,

Prince Eugene of Austria is in the market-place ;

Prince Eug6ne of Austria has smiles upon his face ;

Says he, " Our work is done.

For the Citadel is won.

And the black and yellow flag flies o’er Cremona

Major Dan O’Mahony is in the barrack square.

And just six hundred Irish lads are waiting for him there ;
Says he “ Come in your shirt.

And you wont take any hurt.

For the morning air is pleasant in Cremona

Major Dan O'Mahony is at the barrack gate.

And just six hundred Irish lads will neither stay nor wail ;
There’s Dillon and there’s Burke,

And there’ll be some bloody work
Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold Cremona.

Major Dan O'Mahony has reached the river fort.

And just six hundred Irish lads are joining in the sport ;

'' Come take a hand I ’’ says he.

And if you will stand by me.

Then it’s gloiy to the man who takes Cremona 1 ”

Prince Eugene of Austria has frowns upon his face.

And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish blood and race :

“ MacDonnell, ride, I pray.

To your countrymen, and say.

That only they are left in all Cremona I ”

MacDonnell he has reined his mare beside the river dyke.
And he has tied the parley flag upon a serjeant’s pike ;

Six companies were there.

From Limerick and Clare,

The last of all the guardians of Cremona.

128

CREMONA

“Now, Major Dan O'Mahony, give up the river gate,

Or, Major Dan O’Mahony, you’ll find it is too late ;

For when 1 gallop hack,

'Tis the signal for attack,

And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona 1 ’’

And Major Dan he laughed : " Faith, if what you say he
true.

And if they \vill not come until they hear again from you.
Then there will be no attack.

For you’re never going back.

And we’U keep you snug and safely in Cremona

All the weary day the German stormers came,

All the weary day they were faced by fire and flame.

They have filled the ditch with dead.

And the river’s running red ;

But they cannot win the gateway of Cremona.

All the weary day, again, again, again.

The horsemen of Dupr6s and the footmen of Lorraine,
Taafe and Herberstein,

And the ridera of the Rhine
It’s a mighty price they’re paying for Cremona.

Time and time they came with the deep-mouthed German
roar.

Time and time they broke like the wave upon the shore ;
For better men were there
From Limerick and Clare,

And who will take the gateway of Cremona ?

Prince Eugtoe has watched, and he gnaws his nether Bp ;
Prince Eug6ne has cursed as he saw his chances slip :

“ CuU off] Call offl ” he cried,

“ It is nearing eventide.

And 1 fear our work is finished in Cremona

Says Wauchop to McAuliffe, " Their fire is growing slack ".
Says Major Dan O’Mahony, “It is their last attack ;

But who will stop the game
While there's light to play the came.

And to walk a short way with them from Cremona ? "

THE BATfLE OF BLENHEIM 120

And so they snarl behind them, and beg them turn and
come ;

Tliey have taken Ncuberg’s standard, . they have taken
Diak’s drum ;

And along the winding Po,

, Beard on shoulder, stem and slow,

The Kaiserlics are riding from Cremona.

Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting on the wall ;

Four hundred more are lying who can hear no slogan call ;
But what’s the odds of that, ■

, For it's all the same to Pat
If he paj's his debt in Dublin or Cremona.

Says General de Vandray, " You’ve done a soldier’s work I
And every tongue in France shall talk of Dillon and of
Burke 1

" Ask what you will this day.

And be it what it may,

It is granted to the heroes of Cremona.”

‘^Why, then,” says Dan O'Mahony, "one favour we entreat.
We were called a little early, and our toilet’s not complete.
We’ve no quarrel with the shirt,

But the breeches wouldn’t hurt,

For the evening air is chilly in Cremona.”

Sir Arllmr Oonan Doyle, " Songs of Action ”.

L

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

{From “ Ballads ojkZ Metrical Pieces ”)

(13 August, noi )

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar’s work was done.

And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun ;

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine..

9

130

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something laj^e and round.

Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found :

He came to ask what he had found.

That was so laige, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

WTio stood expectant by ;

And then the old man shook his head.
And, with a natmral sigh,

“ 'Tis some poor fellow’s skull,” said he,

" IVho fell in the great victory !

'' I find them in the garden, for
There's many here about ;

And often when I go to plough.

The ploughshare turns them out ;

For many thousand men,” said he,

" Were slain in the great victory ! ”

" Now, tell us what 'twas all about,”
Young Peterkin he cries ;

And little WUhelmlne looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes ;

" Now teU us all about the war.

And what they kill'd each other for."

“ It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“That put the French to rout;

But what they killed each other for
I could not weU make out.

But everybody said,” quoth he,

“ That 'twas a famous victory !

" My lather lived at Blenheim then.

Yon little stream hard by ;

They bum'd his dwelling to the ground.
And he was forced to fly ;

So with his wife and child he fled.

Nor had he where to rest bis head.

nnvi:ii)> judk

l.'U

“ With fire and swurd tin,' ixiuntr}' r*Kiml
\V)u wasted far and wide:

And many a cliildiui' in'dlicr tlieu
And ncw.l>oni l«i>y dicti,

Htjtl Utitins lil:e thvat, ynrj know, joiisl fin
At every fiitmm^ victory.

''TJley vay it was a sltockio" nielli
AAer tfic field w.ai mom ;

I'or niAiiy tli<<u)i.ind lKiilIr< here
l.ay roUmji in the fUM.

Ihil tliiM;*': like tlinl, yon know, jiniit he
After a Inntotis victory.

''(•real praise the Duke of .\fnrlhro' won,

Atid our fioiu] prince Knuene,"

" \Vhy, 'tw.as a very wicked llniifj ! ”

8aid little Williclnune.

" Nay, nay, jny little pirl," qiinth he,

“ It was a iamtiiia victory !

•'And tver)'hody praised the Duke
\Miii siicli a finhl ilid win."

*' Ihit what ftfhwl eanie of It at Iasi ’’

Qiiitlh little I’etcrkiii.

•'Why that I Cannot tell," said he,

“ Hill 'twns a famoiH \-ictory!"

iiotvrl Saul *'Pcctiral Worfea".

I.l

PAUk HlvVKHIVS IllOE
[Frotn " Tiilt', of a ll aj/fiih' Jiiri," P<xit J)
(IK .Ariiii, I77.'»)

Listen, niy children, and you sliull hear
Of the inidniglit ride of Paid liiivcre,

On the cightcentli of April, In Seventy-five ;

Mardly a tnan is now alive

UHio rernemhers that famous day and year.

132

PAUL TIEVERE’S RIDE

He said to his friend, " If the British march
By land or sea from the to'vvn to-night.

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—

One, if by land, and two, if by sea :

And I on the opposite shore will be.

Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,

For the country-folk to be up and to arm. *

Then he said, " Good-night ! ” and with muffled oar.
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore.

Just as the moon rose over the bay.

Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war ;

A phantom-ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar.

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street.
Wanders and watches with eager ears.

Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack-door.

The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet.

And the measured tread of the grenadiers.

Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the old North Chinch,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread.

To the belfry-chamher overhead.

And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round liim made
passes and moving shapes of shade, —

^lAhe trembling ladder, steep and tall,
vVhtng highest window in the wall,

he paused to listen and look down
And thwj^t Qjj of ffjg town.

Beneath, iioonlight flowing over all.

In their nigaije churchyard, lay the dead
Wrapped in sK^gjjjjjpment on the hill,
>ae so deep and stiU

133

PAUL PEVERE’S RIDE

That be coidd hear, like a sentinel’s head.

The watchful night-wind .-is it went
Creeping along from tent to "tent.

And seeming to whisper, “ All is well 1 " /

A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead ;

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,

Where the river widens to meet the bay, —

A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,

Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.

Now he patted his horse’s side,

Now gazed at tlie landscape far and near.

Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,

And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ;

But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfrj'-tower of the Old North Church,

As it rose above the graves on the hill.

Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.

And lo ! as he looks, on the bellly’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light !

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns.

But lingers and gazes, till, full on his sight,

A second lamp in the belfry bums !

A hurry of hoofs in the village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark.

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet ;

That was all 1 And yet, through the gloom and the
light.

The fate of a nation was riding that night ;

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep.

And beneath hini, tranquil and broad and deep,

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ;

134

PAUL REl^ERE’S RIDE

And under the alders, that skirt its edge,

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock,

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock.

And the barking of the farmer’s dog.

And felt the damp of the river fog.

That rises after the sun goes do^vn.

It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.

He saw the gilded weathercock
S\vim in the moonlight as he passed.

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare.

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was hvo by the village clock

'When he came to the bridge in Concord town.

He heard the bleating of the flock.

And the twitter of birds among the trees.

And felt the breath of the morning breeze
BloAving over the meadows brown.

And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

Who that day would be lying dead.

Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read.
How the British Regulars fired and fled, —

How the farmers gave them ball for ball.

From behind each fence and farmyard wall.
Chasing the red-coats down the lane.

Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road.

And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere ;

And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm, —

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN

A ciy of defiance and not of fear,

A voice in the darkness, a knock at tlie door,

And a word that shall echo for evermore !

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

Through all our history, to the last,

In the hour of darkness and peril and need,

The people -will waken and listen to hear
The hunying hoof-beats of that steed,

And the midnight message of Paul Revere,

Henry Wadsioorth Longfollow, “ Poetical Works

LII

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN

I (3 Decembeh, 1800)

On Linden, when the sun was low.

All bloodless lay ti»’ untrodden snow ;

And dark os -(vinter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight.

When tlie drum beat, at dead of night.
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumjret fast array'd.

Each horseman drew his battle-blade.

And furious every charger neigh’d
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hiUs with thunder riven ;
Then rush’d the steed to battle driven ;
And, louder than the bolts of heaven, '
Far flash’d the red artillery.

But redder yet that Rght shall glow
On Linden’s hills of stained snow ;

And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

130

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

’Tis mom ; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the Tvar-clouds, rolling dun,

Where furious Frank and fieiy Hun
Shout in their sulph’rous canopy.

The combat deepens : On, ye brave !

Who rush to gloiy, or the grave 1
Wave, Munich 1 all thy banners wave I
And charge -with all thy chivalry 1

Few, few shall part where many meet 1
The snow shall be their wnding-sheet,

And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre I

Tiiovias Caynpiell, “ Poetical Works ’

UII

THE battle of THE BALTIC

(2 April, 1801)

Of Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day’s renown.

When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark’s crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined band.

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat.

Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;

While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April mom by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death ;

And the boldest held bis bre.ath
For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene ;

And her van the fleeter rush’d

. -THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC ■ 137

O’er the deadly space between. ,

" Hearts of oak 1 ” our captain cried ; wlien each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun J

Again ! again I again I
And the havoc did not slack.

Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ; —

Their shots along the deep slowly boom ;

Then ceased — and all is wail.

As they strike the shatter’d sail ;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom 1

Out spoke the victor then.

As he hail'd them o’er the wave,

" Ye are brothers 1 ye are men 1
And we conquer but to save 1
So peace, instead of death, let us bring :

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

Witli the crews, at England’s feet.

And make submission meet
To our King.”

Then Denmark bless'd oiu- chief.

That he gave her wounds repose ;

.And the sounds of joy and ^ef
From her people wildly rose.

As death withdrew his shades from the day ;

While the sun look’d smiling. bright
O'er a wide and woful sight.

Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.

Now joy. Old England, raise !

For the tidings of thy might.

By the festal cities’ blaze,

IVhile the Avine-cup' shines in light —

And yet, amidst that joy and uproar.

138 THE SUBJUGATION OP SWITZERLAND

l.et us think of them that sleep,

Full many a fathom deep.

By thy %vild and stormy steep,

Elsinore I

Brave hearts ! to Britain’s pride
Once so faithful and so true,

On the deck of fame that died.

With the gallant good Riou !

Soft sigh the -win^ of heaven o’er their grave !
\\Tiile the billow moumfnl rolls.

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave !

Thomas Campbell, “Poetical Works”.

uv

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGA.
TION OF SWITZERLAND

{From “ Somiets dedicated to Liberty ’*)

(1802)

Two voices are there ; one is of the sea.

One of the mountains ; each a mighty voice ;

In both from age to age thou didst rejoice.

They were thy chosen music, liberty !

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought’rt agabist him ; but hast vainly striven.
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven.
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ;

Then cleave, oh, cleave to that which still is left ;

For, high-souled maid, what sorrow would it be
That mountain floods should thunder as before.

And ocean bellow from his rocky shore.

And neither awful voice be beard by thee 1

William Wordsworth, "Poetical Works’’,

TRAFALGAR ■ , 139.

. • > LV . .

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM
(1805)

Oiir bugles sang truce— for the nigM-cloud had lower’d,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ;

And thousands had simk on the ground overpower’d, -
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

WTien reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolFscaring faggot that guarded the slain.

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw.

And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array
Far, far I had roam’d on a desolate track :

’Twas Autumn, — and sunsliine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields,' traversed so oft,

• In life’s morning march, when my bosom was young ;

I heard my o%vn mountain-goats bleating aloft.

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondlyl swore
From my home and my rveeping friends never to part ;

My little ones kiss’d me a thousand times o’er,

And my wife sobb’d aloud in her fulness of heart.

Stay, stay with us, — rest ; thou art weary and worn ;

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; —

Rut sorrow return’d with the da^vning of mom.

And the voice in ray dreaming ear melted away.

Tlmnas Campbell, " Poetical Works ”.

LVJ

TRAFALGAR '

(21 OcTODEH, 1805 )

Heard ye the thunder of battle -
Low in the South and afar ?

Saw 3'e the flash of the death-cloud
Crimson o’er Trafalgar ?

140

I'Hafaixiah

Such nnolhcr diiy never
Etigluiid will look on ngnhi,

When tlie Imttlc fought wns tlic hottest,
And the hero of heroes wns slntii 1

For the fleet of France nnd the force of S;win weregntlicrM
for fight,

A greater than Philip their lord, u new Amiadn in might ; —
And the sails were aloft once more in tlic deep Gndilnnian

l)ay,

WhcrcBcdoubiablc nml Buccnianrc and great Trinidaila
lay,

Engcr-rcluclant to close ; for across the bloodshed to he
Two navies helicid one prize in iUglor)’, — the throne of the

sea 1

Which were bravest, who should tell ? for both were gallant
and true ;

But the greatest seaman was ours, of all that sail’d o’er
the hluc.

From Cadiz the enemy sallied : they knew not Nelson was '
there;

His name a navy to us, but to them a flag of desiwir.

From Ayamonte to Algcziras he gtinnled the coast.

Till he bore from Tavini south ; and they now must fight,
or be lost ; —

Vainly they steer’d for tlic Bock and the Midland sheltering
sea.

For he headed the Admirals round, constraining them under
Ids lee,

^hlleneuve of France, and Gravina of Spain, so they shifted
their ground.

They could choose, they were more than we ; — and they
faced at Trafalgar round ;

Banking their fleet two deep, a fortress-wall thirty-tower’d ;

In the midst, four-storied with guns, tlic tlark Trinldada
lower’d.

So Tiith those. — But meanwhile, ns against some dyke that
mm massively rear,

From on ligh the torrent surges, to drive through the dyke
as a sjear.

TRAFALGAR

141 ,

Eagle-eyed e'en in bis blindness, our chief sets his double
, army,

Making the fleet hvo spears, to tlirust at the foe, any
way, , . .

”'Anyhou'! — without orders, each captain his Frenchman
may grapple perforce :

CollingAvood first ” (j'ot the Victory ne’er a whit slacken’d
her course)

“ Signal for action 1 Farewell I we shall win, but we meet
not again 1”

Then a low thunder of readiness ran from the decks o’er
the main,

And on, — as the message from masthead to masthead flew
out like a flume,

“Enoi-ano expects eveuy man will do ms duty” — they
came.

Silent they come: — ^While the thirty black forts of the
foemeu’s array

Clothe them in billowy snow, tier spreading, o’er tier as
they lay ;

Flashes that came and went, ns swords when the battle is
rife ;

But ours stood frowningly smih’ng, and ready for death as

' for life.

O in that interval grim, ere the furies of slaughter em-
brace, ‘

Thrills o’er each man some far echo of England ; some
glance of some face I

— Faces gazing seaward through tears from the ocean-girt
shore ;

Features that ne’er can be gazed on again till the death
pang is o’er. . . .

Lone in his cabin the Admiral kneeling, and all his great
heart

As a child’s to the mother, goes forth to the loved one, who
bade him depart ;

O not for death but glory 1 her smUe would welcome him
home ! '

Louder and thicker the thunderbolts fell — and sdent they
come. ,/

As when Imyond Donpoln U>e lion whom hunters nttack,

Stiinp by Ihclr «lart5 from nfur, Jpn|>s in, dividinp tliem
back

So between Spnutnrd nntl Frenclitntin tlie Vtctori/ wcdpcrl
with n shout,

Gun ngainst gun; n cloud from licr decks, nnd lightning
went out ;

Iron Irailing of pitiless death from the sulphniy smoke ;

Voices hoarse and parch’d, nnd blood from invisible stroke.

llnch man stood to his work, though his mates fell smitten
nround,

t\s M\ oak of the wood, while his fellow, ilainc-shaltcrcd,
tresplinlcrs the gtxxtnd : —

Gluttons of danger for Ibigland, hut sp wing the foe ns helsr ;

For the spirit of Nelson was on them, nnil c.icli wns Nelson
that day.

“ She has struck ! lie shouted ; “ she Imnis, the Hcionhl-
abic! Save whom we can.

Silence our guns;" for in him the woman was great In the
nwn.

In lluit heroic heart each drop girl-gentle and pure,

Dying Iiy tliose he sjwred ; mul now Death's Iriumpli was
sure 1

From llie deck liie smoke-wreath clenr'il, and the foe set
liis ri/ic in rest,

D.istanlly aiming, where Nelson stood forth srilh the stars
on his breast, —

“ In honour I gain’d them, in iionoiir I <lie with them,”
Tlicii in liis place

Fell. ..." Hnnly ! ’lis over ; Init let them not know : "
nnd he cover'd his fnci*.

Silent, the whole fleet's darling lliey liorc to the twilight
below ;

■\nd above the war-thunder came shouting, as foe struck
^Uis flag after foe.

his heart death rose ; nnd for Hard}', the faithful, he
,,‘jj^wied in Ills pain —

"^be'S^ Hardy ? “ Tis ours." Then

Not in va'?<='!’ no- , ,

left comrAdts and England he bled : henr he

^^ure,

.143

THE BUKUL OF SHI JOHN MOORE

Queen of her own blue seas, while his name and example
' endure. • ,

O, like a lover he loved her !--for her as water he pours
Life-blood and life and love; given all for her sake and for
ours 1

“ Kiss me. Hardy I — Thank God ! — I have done my duty ! ”
and then

Fled that heroic soul, and left not his like among men.

Hear ye the heart of a nation
Groan, for her saviour is gone ;

Gallant and true and tender,

Child and chieftain in one ?

Such another day never

England will weep for again.

When the triumph darken’d the triumph.

And the hero of heroes was slain.

Francis Pttrner Falgrave, “The Virions of England”.

l/VIl

- THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
- (1 6 Jamuauy, 1 809)

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note.

As his corse to the ram{)art we hurried ;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O’er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night.

The sods with our bayonets turning ;

By tlie struggling moonbeam’s misty light.

And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast.

Not in sheet or in shroud we woimd him ;

-But he lay like a warrior taking his rest.

With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;

, But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead.
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

144 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed.

And smoothed down his lonely pillow.

That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head.
And we far away on the billow 1

Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone.

And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him, —

But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done.

When the clock struck the hour for retiring :

And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid lum do>vn,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone —

But we left him alone with his glory.

Charles IFol/c," BemaliiB ”.

LVUl

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP
(1809)

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon :

A mile or so away
On a Rttle mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming-day ;

With neck ouhthrust, you fancy how,
liCgs Avide, arms locked behind.

As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused " My plans
That soar, to earth may fall.

Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,” —

14D

THE MAMELUKE CUAROE

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he rcjiched the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy.

And held himself erect
By just his liorse'.s mane, a bo}’:

You linnllj' could suspect —

(So tight he kept his Ups compressed.

Scarce any blood came thro’) —

You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

*' Well,” cried he, " Emperor, by God’s grace
We’ve got you IbiUsbon 1
The Marshal’s in the market-place,

And you’ll be there anon
To sec 3'our flag-bird flap his vans
Wlicrc I, to heart's desire,

Perched him 1 " The Chiefs eye flashed ; his plans
Sojircd up again like fire.

The Clu’cfs eye flashed ; but presently .

Softened itself, as shcatiics
A film the mother eagle's eye

VWien her bruised eaglet breathes ;

“ You’re wounded! ” “Nay,” his soldier’s pride
Touched to the quick, he said :

“ I’m killed. Sire I *' And, his Chief beside,

Smiling the boy fell dead.

itobert Browning, " Dtamatlo Romances and Lyrics".

ux

THE MAMELUKE CHARGE

Let the Arab courser go
Headlong on the silent foe ;

Their plumes may shine like mountain snow,
Like fire their iron tubes may glow,

10

14G

THE MAMELUKE CHARGE

Their camion death on death may tliroiv.

Their pomp, their pride, their strength, ive know,
But — let the Arab courser go.

The Arab horse is free and bold.

His blood is noble from of old.

Through dams, and sires, many a one,

Up to the steed of Solomon.

He needs no spur to rouse his ire.

His limbs of beauty never tire ;

Then, give the Arab horse the rein,

And their dark squares will close in vain.

Though loud the death-shot peal, and louder,

He will only neigh the prouder ;

Though nigh the death-flash glare, and nigher,
He will face the storm of fire ;

He will leap the mound of slain.

Only let him have the rein.

The Arab horse will not shrink back.

Though death confront him in his track ;

The Arab horse will not shrink back,

And shall his rider’s arm be slack ?

No ! — By the God who gave us life.

Our souls are ready for the strife.

We need no serried lines, to show
A gallant bearing to the foe.

We need no trumpet to awake

The thirst, which blood alone can slake.

What is it that can stop our course.

Free riders of the Arab horse ?

Go — brave the desert wind of fire ;

Go — beard the lightning’s look of ire ;

Drive back the ravening flames, \vhich leap
In thunder from the mountain steep ;

But dream not, men of fifes and drums.

To stop the Arab when he comes :

Not tides of fire, not walls of rock.

Could shield you from that earthquake shock.
Come, bretliren, come, too long we stay.

The shades of night hove rolled away.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

147

Too fast the golden moments fleet,

Charge, ere another pulse has beat ;

Charge — ^like the tiger on the fawn.

Before another breath is draAvn.

Sir Francis Hastings Doyle, “ Tlio Betnm
of the Guards

I.X

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO
{From “ Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” Canto III.)

(18 June, 1815)

Stop ! — for thy tread is on an Empire’s dust !

An earthquake’s spoil is sepulchred below !

Is the spot mark’d with no colossal bust ?

Nor column trophied for triumphal show ?

None : but the moral’s truth tells simpler so.

As the ground was before, thus let it be j —

How that red rain hatli made the harvest grow !

And is this all the world has gain’d by thee,

Thou first and last of fields I king-making Victory ?

* ♦ * * * * *

There was a sound of revelry by night.

And Belgium’s capital had gather’d then
Her Beauty and her Chivaliy, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when
Music arose, Avith its voluptuous swell.

Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; —

But hush I hark 1 a deep sound strikes like a rising knell 1

Did 3’e not hear it ? No ; 'twas but the wind.

Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ;

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ;

No sleep till mom, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet —

But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more.

As if the clouds its echo would repent ;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !

Arm ! arm 1 it is I — it is ! — the cannon’s opening roar I

1-18

THE FIELD OF 'SFATEULOO

Within a -window’d niche -of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he-did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,

And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear ;

And, when they smiled because he deem’d it near.
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch’d his father on a bloody bier.

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell ;
He rush’d into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell 1

Ah I then and there was hurrying to and fk),

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress.

And cheeks all pale, which but nn hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their o-wn loveliness ;

And there were sudden partings, such as ])ress
The life from out j’oung hearts, and choking sighs -
Which ne’er might be repeated ! Who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes.

Since upon night so sweet such awful mom could rise 1

And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed.

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car.

Went pouring forward with impetuous speed.

And swiftly fbrming in the ranks of war ;

And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar ;

And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Boused up the soldier, ere the moming star ;

While throng’d the citizens Avith terror dumb.

Or whispering with white lips — ^“The foe 1 they come, the;
come ! ”

And wld and high the “ Cameron’s gathering ” rose—
The war note of Lochiel, wliicb Albyn’s hills
Have heard — and heard, too, have her Saxon foes —
How in the noon of night tijat pibroch thrills.

Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The sluring memory of a thousimd years ;

And Evan’s, Donald’s, fame rings in each clansman's ears

THE ISLES OF GHEECE

149

Aud Ardennes craves above them her green leaves,
Dewy Avith nature’s tear-drops, as they pass.

Grieving — if aught inanimate e'er grieves —

Over the imretuming brave — alas 1
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass,

Whicli now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure ; when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low !

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
lyost eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay ;

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife ;

The moni the marshalling in arms ; the day
Battle’s magnificently-stem array 1
Tile thunder-clouds close o'er it, whicli when rent.
The earth is cover’d thick with other clay
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent !

Lord Sj/roi^, “ PoetiosI WorJis

nxi

THE ISLES OF GREECE

{From “Don Jiian" Oanto JIT.)

Tlie isles of Greece I the isles of Greece I
Where burning Sappho loved and sung, —
Where grew the arts of war and peace.
Where Delos rose, and Pbcebus sprung )
Eternal summer gilds them yet, —

But all, except their sun, is set.

The Scian and the Teian muse.

The hero's harp, the lover’s lute.

Have found the fame your shores refuse :

Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds that echo further west
Than your sires’ “ Islands of the Blest ".

'I’llR ISI^RS OR CUKKCR

The mountains look on Mnmlhon,

And Marathon looks on the sea :

And, musing there an hour nlonci

I dream'd that Greece might still be free
For, standing on the Persian's grave,

1 could not deem myself a slave,

A king sat on the rocky brow
'J’liat looks o’er sca-lwm Salamis,

And ships by thousands lay below,

And men in nations ; — all averc his !

He counted them at break of day.

And when the sun set where were they ?

And wlicrc arc they ? and wlicre art thou.
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The Iicmic lay is tuneless now —

The heroic bosom beats no more 1
And must thy Ijtc, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine ?

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Tliongh link'd among a fetter’d race,

To feel at least a patriot’s shame,

Even as I sing, suffuse my face ;

For what is left the poet here ?

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear.

Must IOC but weep o’er days more blest?

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled.
Earth ! render Iwck from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead 1
Of the three hundred grant but three.

To make a new Thcrmopylcc !

What I silent still ? and silent all ?

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent’s fall,

And answer, “ Let one living bead.

But one, arise — we come, we come 1 "

'Tis but the living who are dumb.

151

THE ISLES OF GREECE

In vnin — ^in vain ; strike other chords ; • •
Fill high the cup with Samian wine I
Leave battles to the Turkisli hordes.

And shed the blood of Scio’s vine 1
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call,

How answers each bold Bacchanal !

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet —
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ?

Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one ?

You have the letters Cadmus gave' —

Think ye he meant them for a slave ?

FUl high the bowl with Samian wine I
We wiU-not think of themes like these 1
It made Anacreon’s song divine :

He served — but serv^ Polycrates —

A tyrant ; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom’s best and bravest friend ;
That tyrant was Miltiades !

Oh 1 that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind 1
Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !

On Suli’s rock and Parga’s shore
Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore ;

And there, perhaps, some'seed is sown
The Heracleidan blood might omi.

Trust not for freedom to the Franks —
They have a king who buys and sells ;
In native swords, and native ranks.

The only hope of courage dwells :

But Turkish force and Latin fraud
Would break your shield, however broad.

THE ISLES OF GREECE

lfi2

Fill high the howl with Saminn wine !

Our virgins dance bcneatli the shade —

I see their glorious black eyes shine ;

Hut, gazing on each glowing maid,

My o^vn the burning tear-drop laves.

To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep.

Where nothing, .save the waves and I,

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep :

There, swan-like, let me sing and die :

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine —

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine.

Lord Byron, *' Poetical Worts’

THE FIELDS OF THE CRIMEA

27ie fmce, that I deem’d no peace is over and done,

And imo hy the side of the Black and the Baltic deep,
And deathfid grinning mouths of the fortress, flame
The blood-red blossom of war toith a heart of fire.

Lord Tennyson, “ Mand

The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might of the
fight!"

Lord Tennyson, “ The Charge of the Heavy Brigade at Balaclava

Tell, the great tidings, they went forth that day
A Legion, and came back from victory
Ttoo hundred men and glory !

Sydney Dobell, “Cavalry Charge at Balaclava

LXII

ALMA

(From “ Poems Written During the Bussian War ”)

(20 September, 1854)

Tliough till now ungraced in story, scant although thy
waters be,

Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the
sea.’

Yesterday, unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar
known.

Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world’s four corners
blown.

163

In two nnlions’ nminh grnvcn, thou firl now n deathless
name,

And a shir for ever shining in their firmament of fame.

Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower,
and shrine,

Little streamlet, knows no magic, lioasts no potency like
thine ;

Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living
head.

Cannot lend the light thou Icndcsl to the memories of the
dead.

Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly
mourning, say —

When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept
itself away —

" He has passed from us, the loved one ; but he sleeps with
them that died

By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side,"

Yes, in the days far onwanl, when we all are calm as
those,

Who beneatli thy vines and willows on their hero-beds
repose.

Thou on England's banners blnzonctl with the famous fields
of old,

Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave
and bold :

iVnd our sons unborn shall nerve them for some, great deed
to be done.

By that bventieth of September, when the Alma’s heights
were won.

O thou river I dc,ar for ever to the gallant, to the free,

Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the
sea.

Richard Ghevenix Trench, “ Poems

TUK CIJAllOK OF THE LIGHT BRIG APE
rAH!

7'IIE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

{From " Maud,’" and other Poctmi)

(25 OcToiiEn, I851-)

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league omrnnl.

All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'• Fonvard, the Light Brigade !

Charge for the guns 1 *’ he said :

Into the ralloy of Dcatli
Rode the six hundred.

" Forwanl, the Light Brigade ! ”

Was there a man dismay’d ?

Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d :

Their’s not to make reply,

Tlieir's not to reason why,

Tlieir’s hut to do and die :

Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of tliem.

Cannon to left of them.

Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d ;

.Storm'd at with shot and shell.

Boldly they rode and well ;

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare.

Flash'd ns they turn'd in air.

Sabring the gunners there, __

Cliarging an army, while
All the world wonder’d ;

156

150 ’JUB FIFm OF fovembeh at inkeuman>

Plunged in the Ballcrj'-sniokq
Piglit iliro‘ (he line they broke ;

Cossnek and lliissian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Tlicn tliey rode Iwck, but not.

Not the sis hundred.

Cannon to riglil of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder’d ;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

WTiilc horse and hero fell.

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of lliein.

Left of she hundred.

VTicn can their glory lade I
O the wild charge they made !

All the world wonder’d.

Honour the charge they made !

Honour tlic Light Brigade. '• '

Noble six hundred 1

Lord Tennyson, ‘‘Pootical Works’’.

lAIV

THE FIFTH OF NOt^MBEft AT INKEftMANN
(t85't)

Twas Midnight ere our Guns’ loud laugh at their wihl work
did cease,

And by the smouldering fires of War we lit the pipe of
peace.

At Four, a burst of Bells went «p through Night’s Cathedral
dark.

It seemed so like oar Sabbath Chimes, we could but wake,
and hark ! .

i

THE FIFl’H OF NOVEMBER AT INKERMANN 157

- So like the Bells that call to prayer in the ’ dear land far
away; ■ .

Tlieir music floated on the air, and kissed us — to betray.

Our Camp lay on the rainy hill, all silent as a cloud.

Its very heart of life stood still i’ the Mist that brought its
shroud^

For Death ^vas walking in the dark, and smiled His smile
to see

How all was ranged and ready for a sumptuous jubUee.

O wily are the Russians, and they came up through the
mirk —

Their feet all shod for silence in the best blood of the
Turk I

While in its banks our fiery tide of War serenely slept,

Tlieir subtle serpentry tmroUed, and up the hill-side
crept.

In the Ruins of the Valley do the Birds of Carnage stir?

A creaking in the gloom like wheels ! feet trample — bullets
whir —

By God 1 the Foe is on us 1 Now the Bugles ■with a start

Thrill — like the cry of a -wronged Queen — to the red roots
of the heart ;

And long and loud the wild war-drums -with throbbing
triumph roU, —

A sound to set the blood on fire, and warm the shivering
soul.

, The war-worn and the weary leaped up ready, fresh, and
true 1

No weak blood curdled white i’ the face, no valour turned
, to dew ;

Majestic ns a God defied, arose our little Host —

All for the peak of peril pushed — each for the fieriest post I

Thorough mist, and thorough mire, and o’er the hill-brow
scowling grim.

As is the fro^vn of Murder when he dreams his dreadful
dream.

No Sun I but none is needed, — Men can feel their way to
fight,

TlJE FJFTn OF NOVEMBER AT INK ERMANN n ,0

Like the old Sen, white-lipped with rage,' they diish and
foam desp.'iir

On ranks of rock, and what n prize for the Wrecker D^th
^vns there !

Blit ns Twerc River Plcasaunce, did oiir fellows take that
flood,

A royal throbbing in the pulse tlmt beat voluptuous blood ;

The Guards went down to the fight in gray that's growing
gory red —

Sec ! save them, they're surrounded 1 LeAp j’our ramparts
of the dead,

And back the desperate battle, for there is but one short
stride

Between the Russ and victoiy I One more tug, you true
and tried —

Tlie Red-Caps crest the hill 1 with bloody spur, ride,
Bosquet, ride 1

Down like a flood from Etna foams their valour’s bimiing
tide.

Now, God for Mcrric England cry 1 Hurrah for France the
Grand,

And charge the foe together, all abreast, and hand to Iiand 1

He caught a shadowy glimpse across the smoke of Alma’s
fray

- Of the Destroying Angel that shall blast his strength
to-day.

We shout and clinrgc together, and again, again, again,

Our plunging battle tears its path, and paves it with the
slain.

Hurrah ! the mighty host doth melt before our fervent ■
heat ;

Against our side its breaking heart doth faint and fainter
beat.

And O, but ’tis a gallant show, and a merry march, as thus

We sound into the glorious goal with shouts victorious !

From mom till night, we fought our fight,' and at the set
of sun

Stood Conquerors on Inkermann — our Soldiers’ Battle won.

ICO TIIK I'jrni 1 >F NOVEMIIF.U AT INKEllMAKN , .

Thnt mom their Icgionn slooil like com !ii iL-t jwmji of
poldcH grain I

Thai niglil the ruihlv sheaves were rcnprtl ujwn the misty
plain !

tVe eiil them down by thundcr-slrokes, and piled the
hliocks of slain :

Tile liill-side liken vintage ran, nnd reeled Dentil’s harvest-
wain.

Wc had hungry luindreds gone to .sup in Paradi.so llml
night,

And robes of lininorlnlily oiir ragged llmvcs bedight !

'I'liey fell in Hoyliood’s comely bloom, .nnd Ilmvcry’s lusty
pride 1

But they made their hed o' the focinen ilead, cre they lay
down nnd died.

We gathered round the tcnl-firc in the evening cold and

And thought of those wlio ranked with us in Battle’s rough
array,

Our Comrades of the mom who eamc no more from that
fell fray I

The salt tears wrung out in the gloom of green dells far
nwaj' —

The cyc.s of lurking Death that in Life's crimson bubbles
play—

The stem wliite faces of the Dead that on the dark ground

I''!'

Like Statues of Old Heroes, cut in precious human clay- —

Some witli a smile ns life had stopped to music proudly
gay—

The household God.s of many a heart all dark nnd dumb
to-day !

And hard /lot eyes grew ripe for tears, nnd Iienrts sank
down to pray.

From alien lands, nnd dungeon-grates, bow eyes will strain
to mark

Tliis waving Sword of Freedom bum nnd beckon through
tlic dark !

The Martyrs stir in their red graves, the rusted armour rings

SAOTA FILOMENA

161

Ado^vn the long nisles of the dead, where lie the warrior
Kings,

To the proud Mother England came the radiant Victory

With Laurels red, and a bitter cup like some last agony.

She took the cup, she drank it up, she raised her laurelled
brow :

Her sorrow seemed like solemn joy, she looked so noble
now.

The dim divine of distance died — the purpled Past grew
wan,

As came that crowning Glory o'er the heights of Inker-
mann.

Gerald Massey, “ My Lyrical Life,” Vol. n.

LXV

SANTA FILOMENA

{From ‘‘Birds of Passage. Flight the First”)

Whene’er a noble deed is wrought,

Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,

Our hearts, in glad surprise,

To higher levels rise.

The tidal waves of deeper souls

' Into our inmost being rolls.

And lifts us imawares
Out of all meaner cares.

Honom: to those whose words or deeds

Thus help us in our daily needs.

And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low !

Thus thought I, as by night I read

Of the great army of the dead.

The trenches cold and damp.

The starved and frozen camp, —

The wmmded from the battle-plain,

In dreary hospitals of pain.

The cheerless corridors.

The cold and stony floors.

11

1C2

SAXIA l•JLOMK^*A

1.0 ! in ilml lionie of iniscrj'

A Indj' -571111 nlfimp I see

I’liss Uirougli lln: glimmering gloom,

Ami flit from nmm to room.

Ami slow, ns in n ilrcnm of Idiss,

Tlie speechless suflerer turns to kiss
Her slindmr ns it fhlls
U)>ou the iiirkcning srnlls.

As if n door in heaven should he.

Opened nnd then closed suddenly,

The vision enme nnd went.

The light shone nnd sens spent.

On P.ncinnd's nimnls, through the long

Hcrenfler of her speech nnd song,

Tliat light its mys shall cast
From porlnls of the p.asl.

A lady -with n lamp shall stand

In the great history of the land,

A noble type of good,
licMic tr&ttvrnftaad.

Nor even shall he wanting here

The palm, the lily, and the spear,

The symlwls tlint of yore
Saint Filomeun Imre.

IJcnry lladurorth Lonn/cUoio, " roctlcnl ^Ycrks’^

IX

•'UNION AND DIIlEn'J’V! ONE EVEU:\IOIlE”

(From. “ Sontjs in Many Keys " II.)

Flay of the heroes who left vs (heir ylory,
liorne throuyh their battlefields' thunder and flame,
Blaroncd in song and illumined in story,

Wave o’er vs all who inherit their fame /

Up iL'ith our banner bright,

Sprinkled with starry light,

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,

Wfn'ic bfey

Loud rings the Nation's cry , —

Unkin ANt> LiiiKim' ! Osr. EvniiMonr.

Light of onr firmament, guide of our Nation,

Pride of her ehiUlren, and honoured afar.

Let thy wide beams of thy full constellation
Scatter each cloud that vordd darken a star!

Up with our banner briyht, etc.

Empire vnsceptred ! what foe shall assail thee.

Bearing the standard of Liberty's ran ?

Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee.

Striving with men for the birthright of man.

Up with our banner bright, etc.

Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted,

Dawns the dark hour when thy .sword thou must draw,
Then with the arms of thy millions united,

Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law !

Up with our banner bright, etc.

loa

164 HOAV OLD BROIVN TOOK HARPER’S FERR

Lord of tlie Universe I shield us and guide us,

'Lmsting Tlieo always, through shadoio and sun !

Thou hast united us, who shall divide us ?

Keep us, 0 keep us the Many in One !

Up with our banner bright.

Sprinkled with starry light.

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,

HTitZfl through the sounding sky
Loud, rings the Nation’s ery . —

Union and LiBEnri' ! One Evehmore.

Oliver Wendell Bolmes, " Poetical Woris”.

LXVI

HOW OLD BROWN TOOK HARPER’S FERRY
(1 6 October, 1859)

John Brown in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee
farmer,

Brave and godly, with four sons, all stalwart men of
might.

There he spoke aloud for freedom, and the Border-strife
grew warmer,

Till the Rangers fired his dwelling, in his absence, in
the night ;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Came homeward in the morning — to find his house bum’d
down.

Then he grasp’d his trusty rifle and boldly fought for
freedom ;

Smote from border unto border the fierce, invading band ;

And he and his brave boys vow’d — so might Heaven help
and speed ’em ! —

They would save those grand old prairies from the curse
that blights the land ;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Said, “Bo3rs, the Lord will aid us!” and he shoved his
ramrod down.

HOW’- OLD BRO\rN TOOK riAUI’EIl'S FERRY 105

And the Ix)rd did «k 1 these men, nml they Inboiir'd dny
nnd even,

Saving Kansas from its peril ; nnd their verj' lives seem’d
cliann’d,

Till the ruflians kill'd one son, in tlie blessed light of
Heaven, —

In cold blood the fellows slew hin>, ns he journey'd all
unarm'd ;

Tlien Old Brown,

Osnwntomie Brown,

Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, nnd frown’d a terrible
frown 1

Then they seized nnothcr brave bo)', — uotnmid the heal of
battle.

But in peace, behind his plouglishnrc, — nnd they loaded
him with chnlns,

And with pikes, before their horses, even ns they goad
their cattle,

Drove liim cruelly, for their sport, nnd nt Inst blew out
liLs brains ;

Tlicn Old Browm,

Osawatomic Brown,

Raised his right hand up to Heaven, calling Heaven’s
vengennee down.

And he swore n fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,

He would hunt this ravening evil that had scathed nnd
tom him so ;

He would seize it by the vitals ; he would crush it day and
night; he

Would so pursue its footsteps, so return it blow for blow,
Thnt Old Brown,

Osawntomic Bromi,

Should be n nnmc to swear by, in backwoods or in to\vn !

Then his benrd became more grizzled, and his wild blue
eye grew wilder.

And more sharply curved his hnwk's-nose, snuffing battle
from nfnr ;

160 HOW OLD BROWN TOOK HARPER’S FERRY

Aud he aud the two boys left, though the Kansas strif
wax’d milder,

Grew more sullen, till was over the bloody Border Wai
And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Had gone crazy, as they reckon’d by his fearful glare an
frown.

So he left the plains of Kansas and their bitter woi
behind him,

Slipt off into Virginia, where the statesmen all are bon

Hired a farm by Harper's Ferry, and no one knew whei
to find him.

Or whether he’d turn’d parson, or was jacketed and short
For Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Mad as he was, knew texts enough to wear a parson's gowi

He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels,
and such trifles ;

But quietly to his rancho there came, by every tmin.

Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp’s
rifles ;

And eighteen other madmen join’d their leader there
again.

Says Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

“ Boj's ! we’ve got an army large enough to march and take
the town.

"Take the town, and seize the muskets, free the negroes
and then arm them ;

Carry the County and the State, ay ! and all the potent
South.

On their own heads be the slaughter, if their victims rise
to harm them —

These Virginians ! who believed not, nor would heed the
warning mouth ! ”

Says Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

'■ The world shall see a Republic, or my name is not John
Bro\m!’’

HOW OLD BROWN TOOK HARPER’S FERRY 167

- ,’Twtts • the sixteenth of Oelober, on the evening of a
Sunday :

. “This good work ” — declared the captain — "shall be on
a holy night 1 " —

It was on a Sunday evening, and before the noon of
Monday,

Witli two sons, and Captain Stephens, fifteen privates —
black and white,

Captain Brown,

Osawatomie Bfomi,

March’d across the bridged Potomac, and knock'd the
sentry down ;

Took the guarded armoury-building, and the muskets and
tile cannon ;

Captured all the county majors and the colonels, one
by one ;

Scared to death each gallant scion of Virginia they ran on,

And before the noon of Monday, I say, the deed was
done.

Mad Old Brown,

Osarvatomie Brown,

With his eighteen other crazy men, went in and took the
toivn.

Very little noise and bluster, little smell of powder made
he;

It was all done in the midnight, like the Emperor’s
coup d’itat.

“ Cut .the wires 1 Stop the rail-cars 1 Hold the streets
and bridges 1 " said he ;

Then declared the new Republic, with himself for guid-
ing star ; —

Tills Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown ;

And the bold two thousand citizens ran off and left the
toivn.

Then was riding and railroading and expressing here and
thither ;

And the Martinsburg Sharpshooters and the Charlestowm
Volunteers

ion HO^V OLD DKOWN TOOK TlAlll'KlV'S FEUTIY

And Ihc Shcjilierdslown nnil AViiichesler MilUm ImsVcn'd
whither

Old Brown wngsnld tomnslerhls ten Ihoiisnnd grenadiers.
Geneml Brown 1
Osawnlotnic Brown ! I

Behind whose ■nnniwnt banner nil the North was iwuring
down.

But nt Inst, Tis said, sonic prisoners escaped from Old
Brown's diimncc,

And the cfien’escent v.alonr of the Cliivnlrj broke out.

When tlicy leam'd that nineteen madmen had the mar-
vellous nssumnee —

Onlj' nineteen — thus to sctie the place and drive Ihcin
straight about ;

And Old Brown,

Osawatoinle Brown,

Found an army come to take him, encamp'd around the
town.

But to storm, witli all the forces 1 have mention'd,' avas
too risky ;

So they hurried off to Ilichinond for the Government
Marines,

Tore them from tlieir weeping matrons, fired their souls
with Bourbon whiskey,

Till they batter’d doivn Browm’s Castle with their ladders
and machines ;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomic Brown,

Received three bayonet slabs, and a cut on his brave old
crown.

Tally ho ! the old ^Mrginia gentry gather to the b.aying !

In they rush’d and kill’d the game, shooUng lustily away ;

And, whene’er they slew a rebel, those who came too late
for slaying.

Not to lose a share of glory, fired their bullets in his clay ;
And Old Brown,

Osawatomic Broivn,

Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid
him down.

BATTLE HYMN OF TIlE IlEpbBLIC ICO

'How tlie conquerors wore their laurels ; how they hasten’d
on the trial ;

How Old Bro\vu wjis placed, half-dying, on the Charles-
town court-house floor ;

How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denial ;

What the brave old madman told them, — these are
known the country o’er.

" Hang Old Brown,

Osawntomie Brown ! ”

Said the judge — “and all such rebels!” with his most
judicial frown.

pour’d by Spafhem hands ;

And eaeh^rdp from Old Brown’s life-veins, like the red
• jiorgof the dragon,

^-^STay spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your
• slave-worn lands I

And Old Bro^vn,

Osawatomie Brown,

May trouble you more than ever, when you’ve nail’d his
coffin down !

Edmund Clarence Stednian.

LXVII

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

( 1861 )

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord :
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of -wrath
are stored :

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift ■
sword :

His truth is marching on.

Glory I glory, hallelujah I
Glory ! glory ! glory, hallelujah I
Glory 1 glory, hallelujah I
His truth is marching on.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

170

I have seen Him in the -watch-fires of a hundred circling
camps :

They have budded Him an altar in the evening dews and
damps :

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring
lamps :

His day is marching on.

Glory ! glory, hallelujah 1

Glory ! glory I glory, hallelujah !

Glory 1 glory, hallelujah !

His truth is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnish’d rows of steel :

As ye deal with my contemners, so -with you my grace
shall deal :

Let the hero bom of woman crush the serpent with bis
heel !

Since God is marcliing on.

Glory I glory, hallelujah !

Glory \ glory 1 glory, hallelujah 1

Glory ! glory, hallelujah !

His truth is marching on.

He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call
retreat ;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment
seat;

O, be swift, my soul ! to answer Him ; be jubilant, my
feet !

Our God is marching on.

Glory ! glory, hallelujah !

Glory ! glory ! glory, hallelujah !

' Glory ! glory, hallelujah 1

His truth is marching on.

In the beauty of the Idies Christ was bom, across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me ;

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men
free !

While God is marching on.

BARBAUA FRIETCIIIE

171

Glory ! glorj-, Imllclujnh !

Glory ! glory ! glorj', hulleliijnh !

Glorj’ ! glorj', hallelujnli !

His truth is marching on.

thiUn irtird Hotce,

LXViU

BARBARA FRIRTCHIR
{From “ III TFar Time ")

( 1862 )

Up from the meadows rich with corn.

Clear in the cool September mom.

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Grccn-wnllcd by tl»e hills of Mnrjdnnd.

Round about them orchards sweej),

Apple and peach-tree fruited deej), —

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel honlc ;

On that pleasant mom of the early fall,

When Lee marched over the mountain wall, —

Over the mountains winding down.

Horse and foot, into Frederick Town.

Forty flags with their silver stars.

Forty flags with their crimson bars.

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchic then.

Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ;

Bravest of all in Frederick Town,

She took up the flag the men hauled down ;

172

BARBARA FRIETCHIE

In her attic •window the staff she set.

To show that one heart -was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread.
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced : the old flag met his sight.

“ Halt ! ” — the dast-l>ro\vxi ranks stood fast.
“ Fire ! ” — out blazed the rifle-blasL

It shivered the window, pane and sash.

It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell from the broken staS^
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.

She leaned far out on the window-sill.

And shook it forth with a royal wilL

“ Shoot, if you must, this old grey head.
But spare your country's flag ! ” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame.

Over the face of the leader came ;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman’s deed and word.

" VVho touches a hair of yon grey head.
Dies like a dog ! March on 1 ” he said.

All day long through Frederick Street
Sounded the tread of marching feet ;

All day long that free flag tossed
Over the heads of the rebel-host.

Ever its tom folds rose and fell
On the loyal •winds that loved it well :

And through the hUl-gaps, sunset light
Shone over it with a •warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,

And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

A SIGHT IN CAMP

173

Honour to her! — and let a tear

Tall, for her sake, on Stoncwall’s bier. .

Over Barham Frielchic’s grave
Flag of Freedom and Union, avnve 1

Peace, and order, and beauty dmw
Bound thy s^'mbol of light and law :

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick To\vn !

John GreenUaf Whillicr, “ Poetical Works’’.

LXIX

A SIGHT IN CAMP

A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim,

As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,

As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the
hospital tent 1

Three forms I sec on stretchers Ijdng, brought out there,
untended lying.

Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen
blanket.

Grey and licavy blanket, folding, covering nil.

Curious I halt and silent stand,

Tlien with light fingers I from the face of the nearest,
the first, just lift the blanket ;

Wiio arc you elderly man so gaunt <md grim, with well-
grey’d hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes ?

Who are you, my dear coramdc ?

Then to the second I step — and who are you, my child
and darling ?

Who arc, you sweet boy, wltli checks yet blooming ?

Then to the third — a face nor child nor old, very calm,
ns of beautiful yellow- white ivory ;

Young man, I think I know you — I think this face is the
face of the Christ himself,

Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.

TToIt WIntman, *' Leaves o£ Qrass”.

JOHN nURNS OF GETTVSnURG

17A

The moon gives you light,

And the bugles nnd the drums give you music.

And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,

My heart gives j'ou love,

IFnii TiTii/mon, '* Loaves of Gross

I.XXI

BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE

I see before me now a travelling army halting,

Below a fertile valley spread, with bams nnd the orchards
of summer.

Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abmpt, in places
rising high,

Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes
dingily seen.

The numerous camp-fires scatter’d near nnd far, some
away up on the mountain,

The" shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, largc-
/ sized, flickering,

And over all the sky — the sky ! far, far out of reach,
studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.

Wall Wliitman, " Loaves of Grass

uxxu

JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG
(l-.T July, 1863)

Have you heard the story that gossips tell
Of Bums of Gettysburg ? — No ? Ah, well I
Brief is the glorj' that hero earns,

Briefer the story of poor John Bums :

He was the fellow who won renown, —

The only man who didn’t back down
When the rebels rode through his native town.
But held his own in the fight next day.

When all his townsfolk ran away.

JOHN BURNS OF GEm’SBURG

iro

That was in July, sixty-thrcc,

The very day that General Lee,

Flower of Southern chivalrj'.

Baffled and beaten, baekwanl reeled
From a stubborn ^Ieadc and a barren field.

1 might tell how, but the day before,

John Bums stood at his cottage door.

Looking down the village street.

Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine.

He heard the low of his gathered kinc.

And felt their hreath with incense sweet.

Or I might say when the sunset burned
The old farm gable, he thought it turned
The milk, that fell in a babbling flood
Into the milk-pail, red os blood !

Or how he fancied the hum of bees
Was bullets buzzing among the trees.

But all such fanciful thoughts as these
Were strange to a practical man like Bums,
MTio minded only his own concerns.

Troubled no more by fanmes fine

Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, —

Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact.

Slow to argue, but quick to act.

That was the reason, some folk say.

He fought so well on that terrible day.

And it was terrible. On the right
Raged for hours the heady fight.

Thundered the battery’s double bass, —
Difficult music for men to face ;

MTide on the left — where now the graves
Undulate like the li\Tng waves
That all that day unceasing swept
Up to the pits the rebels kept —

Round shot ploughed the upland glades.

Sown with bnUets, reaped with blades ;
Shattered fences here and there
Tossed their splinters in the air ;

The very trees were stripped and bare ;

JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG

The bams that once held yellow grain
Were heaped with harvests of the slain ;

The cattle bellowed on the plain,

The turkeys screameB ■with might and main,

And brooding ham-fowl left their rest
With strange shells bursting in each nest.

Just where the tide of battle turns,'

Erect and lonely stood old John Bums.

How do you think the man was dressed ?

He wore an ancient long buff vest.

Yellow as saffron, — but his best.;

And buttoned over his manly breast

Was a bright blue coat, -with a rolling collar.

And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, —

With taUs that the country-folk called “swaller”.
He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-cro'mied hat.
White as the locks on which it sat.

Never had such a sight been seen
For forty years on the village green,

Since old John Bums was a country beau.

And went to the " quiltings " long ago.

Close to his elbows all that day,

'Veterans of the Peninsula,

Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ;

And striplings, do^vny of lip and chin, —

Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, —
Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore.

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ;

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore,

With seraps of a slangy r&pertoire :

“ How are you, 'White Hat ? ’’ " Put her through I ”
" Your head’s level,” and “ Bully for you 1 ”

Called him " Daddy," — ^begged he’d disclose
The name of the tailor who made his clothes.

And what Avas the value he set on those ;

While Bums, unmindful of jeer and scoff.

Stood there picking the rebels off, —

With his long bro’mi rifle, imd bell-croAvned hat.
And the swallow-tails they Avere laughing at.

THE LAST OF THE RED MEN

Far, far behind him, mountains blue
In shadowy distance melt ;

And, far beyond, the dark woods grew
W^ere bis forefethers dwelt !

No breathing sound was in the air.

As, leaning on his bow,

A lone and weary pilgrim there.

He murmured stem and low ;

“ Far by Ohio’s mighty river.

Bright star, I’ve worshipped thee 1
My native stream — its bosom never
'The Red Man more may see ;

The Pale-face rears his wigwam
Wliere our Indian hunters roved ;

His hatchet fells the forest fair
Our Indian maidens loved.

" A thousand warriors bore in war
The token of my sires :

On all the hills were seen afar
Their blazing coundl-fires !

The foeman heard their Avar-whoop shrill.
And held his breath in fear.

And in the wood, and on the hill.

Their arrows pierced the deer.

" Where are they now ? — the stranger’s tread
Is on their silent place 1
Yon fading light on me is shed.

The last of all my race 1
Where are they now ? — In Summer’s light.
Go, seek the Winter's snoAV 1
Forgotten is om- name and might.

And broken is our bow 1

“ The White Man came ; his bayonets gleam
Where Sachems held their SAvay,

And, like the shadow of a dream.

Our tribe has passed away I

X

LATTERDAY FIELDS AND HEROES

Let us now praise famous men.

Eoolesiastions sxiv. i.

The is Death’s.

Alfred Noyes, " In Tima o£ War ”,

Bui yet the pity of it, logo ! 0 logo, the pity of it, logo .

“Othello,” IV. i,

BEFORE SEDAN

{From “ Old World Idylls ”)

(1 September, 1870)

Here, in this leafy place,

Quiet he lies.

Cold, with his sightless face
Turned to the skies ;

Tis but another dead.

All you can say is said.

Carry his body hence, —

Kings must have slaves ;

Kings climb to eminence
Over men’s graves ;

So this man’s eye is dim ; —

Throw the earth over him.

181

THE LAST REDOUBT

What vrns the wliite you touched.

There, at his side ?

Paper Iiis hand had clutched
Tight ere he died ; —

Message or wish, may be ; —

Smooth the folds out and see.

Hardly the worst of us

Here could have smiled ! —

Only the tremulous

Words of a child ; —

Prattle, that has for stops
Just a few ruddy drops.

Look. She is sad to miss,

Afoming and night,

H is — her dead father’s — kiss ;

Tries to be bright.

Good to mamma, and sweet, '

That is all. “ Marguerite.”

Ah, if beside the dead

Slumbered the pain !

Ah, if the hearts that bled
Slept with the slain !

If the grief died ; — But no ; —

Death will not have it so.

Austin Dobson, " CoUcotod Poems ".

THE LAST REDOUBT

(Etisso-Ttirkish War)

(Septemdeh, 1877)

Kacelyevo’s slope still felt

The cannon’s Imlt and the rifle's pelt ;

For a last redoubt up the hiU remain^.

By the Russ yet held, by the Turk not gained.

TitK L.VST HKDOf/nr

Melu'iiu-l Ali Alroketl hi<: bcnrtl ;

H IK liii-i weir: clcnclic<l ntid hk look was weird ;
notind him were mnks of his r.icpcd folk,

Thrir fneos hlncketicd with Idoml and smoke.

Clear me the Muwivtlo out ! " he critsl,

‘Jlien Uic iinme of" Allah !" celiiK-il witlc,

And the rides were clutched and the h iyoncLs lowcrcil,
And to the l.tst rtMlouhl they jK’urcd.

One fell, and n second quickly slop|>cd

The pap that lie left when he reeled and <lnip]K-<l ;

The second, — n thin! slraipht fiUwl hi-> place;

The thirtl,— and a fourtli kept up Uic race.

Many n fcr. in the mud w.as crushed,

M.sny n throat that cheered w.is hushed,

.Many a ht*art that sought the crest
Found Allah's throne and a houri's hn-.i'l.

Over tin ir coqwi^ the living sprang.

And the ridge wiUi their musquct raltlc rntig,
nil the faces that lilicsl the last rralouhl
Could *1*0 their faces and h<eir their shout.

In the redouht a fair form towcrr.al,

That cliccrcd up the brave and chid the cowanl ;
llrandishing blade with a gallant air.

His head crccl and his temples hair.

•' My ! they are on u* ! " hi* men implored ;

JSut he wavirtl tliein on svilh his waving ssrord.

" It cnmiot tr; held ; 'tis no shame to go ’ "

I'ut he sfiKxl with his fiice tet hard to the foe.

Then clung they nlsail him and toggt-d am) knell ;

He drew a p-itol fnun out his l>elt.

And fired It blank at the first that set
Fotit on the tilge of Uic psraje-f,

fhtr that Cnt one toppled ; hut on
fhuTd*rrcd thrrest till their bayonets shone,

A« hurriedly fitd his men ilismased,

N<it 3 haymiel's tengUi fri'm the length of lii< Made.

184

THE SAm'G OF THE COEOUIIS

•' Yield ! " But aloft his steel he flashed.

And down on their steel it riucinfr clashed ;

Tlicn back he reeled with a bladcless hilt,

His honour fcdl, but his life-blood spilt.

Mehenict Ali came and saw

The riddled bre.ast and the lender jaw.

“ Make him a bier of your amis,” he said,

“And daintily buij this dainty dead ! ”

They lifted him up from Uie dabbled ground ;

His limbs were shapely and soft and round.

No down on his lip, on his cheek no shade ; —

“ Bisraillah 1 ” they cried, “ 'tis an Infidel maid ! ”

“ Dig her a grave where she stood and fell,

’Gainst the jackal's scratch and the vulture’s smell.

Did the Muscovite men like their maidens fight.

In their lines we had scarcely supped to-night”

So a deeper trench ’mong the trenches there
Was dug, for the fomi as brave as fair ;

And none, till the Judgment trump and shout,

Shall drive her out of the Last Redoubt.

Alfred Austin, •* SoliloquiCB in Song

u\.wi

THE SAVING OF THE COLOURS
(22 J.ixo.ihv, 1879)

"For victory! — no, all hope is gone; for life ! — ^Ict that go
too ;

But for the Colours still work on — the chance is left with
you.

I know to share our death with us ye both desire to stay,
But these are my last orders — Mount! and with them
force your way.”

On Coghill and on Melvill thus these last commands were
laid ;

They left the Colonel where he stood, and without words
obeyed.

THE SAVING OF THE COLODRS 185

In silence, then, that steadfast pair moved onward side hy
side.

And, lifting with its staff the Flag, began their ghastly
ride.

Watched through that wild and whirling fight, through
wreaths of eddying smoke.

Their horses ridden hard and straight, on those bold foemen
broke;

Amid the dark lines plunging deep, their blades flashed
back the light.

And then, like divers in the sea, they both are hid from
sight.

But now we know they died not there, for rising up once
more,

Through the rough battle-tide they beat, alive, though
wounded sore;

The red drops fell like falling rain, but still their steeds
were swift ;

And hope is strong within them as they gallop for the
Drift.

O’er grinning boulders guided safe, forced through fierce
tufts of thorn.

Then dashing like a torrent down the path by torrents
worn ;

Well handled in that fearful race, and never slackening
speed.

The chargers struggle gallantly, nor fail them at their
need.

In vain the dusky giants spread all over that rough
ground;

With cruel e3'cs and glistening teeth, like panthers leap
around ;

Melvill’s skilled bridle hand is there, and Coghill’s hovering
sword ;

A new escape each stride, but still, they foil that furious
horde.

18G THE SAVING OF THE COLOURS

Till, toiling through the reed-beds^dank, and up the wild
ravine,

They gain the open hill-top whence the longed-for Drift
is seen.

Alas ! the rifles flash and ring — alas ! like billo^va roll

Besieging masses to and fro, faeHveen them and their •
goal.

The last frail chance' they feel is gone, and turn at once
aside ;

But turn without despairing, since not for themselves they
ride.

Beyond the flood, a furlong's breadth, the land is English
land.

And they must bear our Colours there, though in a dying
hand.

They plunge and swim, the stream runs on — runs dark
with priceless gore.

But that high purpose in the heart lends life, and something
more ;

For though their best blood mingle ivith the rain-swelled
river’s foam,

Death has no power to stop them till they bring their
Colours home.

Death had not power to stop them. No I when through
spates rolling dim,

MeMll, half-drowned, cried out aloud to help the Flag, not
him ;

When Coghill, crippled and outworn, retreading that grim
track,

A martyr in war’s noble faith, to certain fate rode back — | •

They had, it might be thought, to die, leaving their worl!: .
half done,

But aids unseen rose up to end the task so well begun : }

It was os if the intense desire through earth, air, water
wrought.

Passed from them with their passing souls, and home the
Colours brought.

■ COLOKKL nOJlKAHV Ifl/

TJiosc Colours, snvcil for happier days, and amied with that
desire,

Shall feel the last breath of the dead thrill tlirough their
folds like fire ;

And by the spirit-memories of that Iwld ride made strong.

O'er many a battlefield in power shall yet he Imrnc along.

But those who shielded them from shame, and through
fierce thousands made

A passage for them with their blood, arc in one silence
laid ;

Silence between the strife and them, between them and
the cheers

That greet the Flag returning slow, the welcome and the
tears.

For now, forgetting that wild ride, forgetful of all pain.

High amongst those who have not lived, who have not
died, in vain.

By strange stars watched, they sleep afar, within some
nameless glen.

Beyond the tumult and the noise, beyond the pmise of men.

But we who feel what wealth of hope for ever there was
lost,

What bitter sorrow bums for them, how dear Uiose Colours
cost.

Can but recall the sad old truth, so often said and sung,

Tlint brightest lives fade first — that those whom the gods
love die young.

Sir Francis JJasliiiria Doj/lo, “The Botum of Iho Guards and
other rooms ”.

LX.XVIl

COLONEL BURNABY
(17 Januauy 1885)

Thou that on every field of earth and sky

Didst hunt for Death, who seemed to flee and fear.
How great and greatly fallen dost thou lie
Slain in the Desert by some wandering spear :

186 ODE ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL GORDON

“ Not here, alas ! " May England say, “ not here.

Nor in this quarrel was it meet to die.

But in that dreadful battle drauring nigh
To thunder through the A%han passes sheer.

Like Aias by the ships thou shonldst have stood.

And in some glen have stayed the stream of flight,
The bulwark of thy people and their shield,

When Indus or when Helrnund ran with blood,

Till back into the Northland and the Night
The smitten Eagles scattered from the field.’’

Andrea Lang, “ Grass o£ Parnassus ”.

Lxxwn

ODE ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL GORDON

(25 jAisuAnY, 1855)

On through the Libyan sand
Rolls ever, mile on nule,

League on long league, cleaving the rainless land,

Fed by no friendly wave, the immemorial Nile.

Down through the cloudless air,

Undimmed, fi’om heaven’s sheer height,

Bend their inscrutable gaze, austere and bare,

In long-proceeding pomp, the stars of Libyan night.

Beneath the stars, beside the unpausing flood,

Earth trembles at the wandering lion’s roar ;

Trembles again, when in blind thirst of blood
Sweep the wild tribes along the startled shore.

’They sweep and surge and struggle, and are gone ;

The mournful desert silence reigns again,

'The immemorial River rolleth on.

The ordered stars gaze blank upon the plain.

O awful Presence of the lonely NUe,

O awful Presence of the starry sky,

Lo, in this little while

Unto the mind’s true-seeing inward eye

ODE ON TUB DEATH OF OBNERAL GORDON 189

There hatli arisen there

Another Imunting Presence ns sublime,

As great, as sternly fair ;

Yea, rallier fairer far
TJian stream, or sky, or star,

To live while star sliall burn or river roll,

Unmarred by marring Time,

The crown of Being, a heroic soul.

Beyond tlie weltering tides of worldly' change
He saw the invisible things,

The eternal Forms of beauty and of Right ;

Wherewith well pleased his spirit wont to range.

Rapt with divine delight.

Richer than empires, royaler than Kings.

Lover of children, lord of fierj’ fight,

Saviour of empires, servant of the poor,

Not in the soniid scales of earth, unsure,

Depraved, adulterate.

He measured small and great,

But by some righteous balance wrought in heaven.

To his pure hand by Powers empyreal given ;
Therewith, by men unmoved, as God he judged aright.

As on the broad SNveet'Wntered river tost
Falls some poor grain of salt,

And melts to naught, nor leaves embittering trace ;

As in the o'er-arching vault

With unrepeUed assault

A cloudy climbing vapour, Ughtly lost,

Vanisheth utterly in the starry space ;

So from our thought, when his enthroned estate
We inly contemplate,

All wrangling phantoms fade, and leave us face to face.

Dwell in us, sacred Spirit, as in thee
Dwelt the eternal Love, the eternal Life,

Nor dwelt in only thee ; not thee alone
We honour reverently.

But in thee all who in some succouring strife, .

By day or dark, world-TOtnessed or unkno^vn,

Crushed by the crowd, or in late harvest hailed.

Warring thy \var have triumphed, or have failed.

190

“FUZZY-WXJZZY

Nay, but not only there

Broods thy great Presence, o'er the LibiTin plain.

It haunts a kindlier clime, a dearer air.

The liberal air of England, thy loved home.

Thou through her sunlit clouds and flying rain
Breathe, and all svinds that sweep her island shore —
Rough fields of riven foam,

Where in stem watch her guardian breakers roar.

Ay, throned with all her mighty memories.

Wherefrom her nobler sons their nurture draw.

With all of good or great
For aye incorporate.

That rears her race to faith and generous shame.

To high-aspiring awe.

To hate implacable of thick-thronging lies,

To scorn of gold and gauds and clamorous fame ;

With all we guard most dear and most divine,

All records ranked with thine.

Here be thy home, brave soul, thy undccaying shrine.

Enusl ilycTS, “Tho Judgment of Prometheus ".

LX.\|X

“FUZZY-WUZZY”

[Soudan Expeditionary Force)

( 1889 )

We’ve fought with many men acrost the seas.

An' some of ’em was brave an' some was not ;

The Paythan an’ the Zulu an’ Burmese ;

But the Fuzzy was the finest o’ the lot.

We never got a ha’porth’s change of ’im :

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our ’orses,

'E cut our sentries up at Suafciws

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your ’ome in the Soudan ;
You re a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin’ man ;
We^ gives you your certificate, an’ if you want it signed
We 11 come an’ ’ave a romp with you whenever you’re
inclined.

. “FDZZT-ATOZZY” 101'

Wc took our chanst among the Kyber ’illSj
The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,

The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,

An’ a Zulu impi dished us up in style :

But all we ever got from such as they

Was pap to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;

We ’eld our bloom iu’ o>vn, the jiapcrs say,

But man for man the Fuzz}' knocked us ’oiler.

rhen 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, an’ the missis an’ the
kid ;

3ur orders was to break you, an* of course we went an’ did.

d’e sloshed you with Martinis, an’ it w.asn’t ’ardly fair ;

3ut for all the odds agin* you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the
square.

’E ’as’nt got no papers of ’is own,

’E ’as’nt got no medals nor rewards.

So we must certify the skill ’e's shown
In usin’ of ’is long two-’anded swords ;

When ’e’s ’oppin’ in an’ out among the bush
With ’is coffin-’ ended shield an’ shovcl-spcar,

An ’appy day with Fuzzj' on the rush
Will last an ’caltby 'Tommy fora year.

50 'ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an’ j'our friends which are
. no more,

f we ’ndn’t lost some messmates wc would ’clp you to
deplore ;

3ut give an’ take’s the gos[>el, an’ we’ll call tlic bargain
lair,

ror if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the
square.

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,

An’ before we know, ’e's ’ackin' at our ’ead ;

’E’s all ’ot sand an' ginger when alive.

An’ 'e’s generally shammin’ when ’e’s dead.

’E’s a daisy, 'e’s a ducky, ’e’s a lamb !

'E’s a injia-rubbcr idiot on the spree,

‘ E’s the on’y thing that doesn’t give a dam
For a Regiment o’ British Infantree 1

102

HAS IVATl KO GOOD IN ITP

So 'ere’s (o you, Fuzzy-Wuzr.y, nt your 'omc in the Souilnn j

You're u pore bcnightetl 'eatlicn but tv first-class figlitiii
man ;

An' 'erc’s to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, ■with your 'nyrick 'ead of
'air —

You big black boundin’ beggar — for you broke a. British
square !

BtiJi/nrd Kiplinij, " Barrack-room Ballads

i.wrx

IS WAR THE ONLY THING THAT HAS NO GOOD
IK IT?

Tliey say that "war is hell,” the "great accursed,”

The sin impossible to be forgiven ;

Yet I can look beyond it at his worst.

And still find blue in heaven.

And as I note how nobly natures form
Under the war’s red rain, I deem it true

That He who made the earthquake and the stonn
Perchance makes battles too !

Tlie life He loves is not the life of span
Abbreviated bj’ each passing breath.

It is the true humanity of Alan
Victorious over death.

The long expectance of the upward gaze,

Sense ineradicable of things afar.

Fair hope of finding after many days
The bright and morning Star.

Methinks I see how spirits may be tried.

Transfigured into b^uty on war’s verge,

Like flowers, whose tremulous grace is le.amt beside
The trampling of the surge.

TiAfi ArAn NO ooort in it? loa

Ami now, not only Englishmen nt need
Have won n fiery nnd nncqnnl fniv, —

No infitnlrj' has ever done such dcetl
Since Allmcm's day I

Those who live on innid our homes to dwell

Have gmsped the hif^her lessons that endure, —

The pnllanL Private learns to pmclisc well
His licroLsm obscure.

His heart heats Iriph as one for whom is made
A mighty music solemnly, what time
' Tile onilorio of the cannonade
Rolls through the Iiills sublime.

Yet his the dangerous jwsts that few can mark,

The crimson death, the dread tinerring aim,

The fatal l>all that wliirr.cs through llie d.ark.

The just-TCcortlcil name —

Tlic faithful following of the flag all day,

TJic duty done that brings no nation’s thanks,
ThoAma Nt^ciri of some grim nnd gray
A Kcjnpis of the ranks.

These arc the things our commonweal to guartl.

The patient strengtii that is loo proud to press,

The duty done for <luly, not rewanl.

The lofty littleness.

And they of greater state n-ho never turned,

Taking tlieir ]k;ith of duty higlicr and higher,

‘ What do we deem llial they, loo, may liave Icanicd
In that baptismal fire ?

Not that the only end bcncnlh the sun
Is to make every sea a trading lake,

And all our splendid English history one
Voluminous mistake.

Tlrcy who marched up the bluffs last stormy week —
.Some of them, ere they rcaohed the mountain's crown.
The wind of battle brcntliinp on their check
Suddenly laid them down.

13

194

PAT AT GLENCOE

Like sleepers — not like those -whose mce is run —

Fast, fast asleep araid the cannon’s roar,

Thera no reveille and no morning gim
Shall ever -waken more.

And the boy-heauty passed from off the fkce
Of those who lived, and into it instead
Came proud forgetfulness of ball and race.

Sweet commune with the dead.

And thoughts beyond their thoughts the Spirit lent.
And manly te-ars made mist upon their eyes.

And to them came a great presentiment
Of high self-sacrifice.

Thus, as the heaven’s many-coloured flames
At sunset are but dust in rich disguise.

The ascending earthquake dust of battle frames
God’s pictures in the skies.

William Alexander, DJ>., “ The Finding o£ The Book,
and other Poems’’.

LXKXI

PAT AT GLENCOE

(20 October, 1899)

Seven rampageous hours, and still
They clung like bees to the blacken’d hill.

Singing and stinging the bullets came,

And the mist was tom by spirts of flame.

We watch’d them scuttle and duck and dive
As we utter’d our Maxims here and there ;

But back they would swarm to the hive, alive.

And their sulky guns would croak and flare.
Citizens ? — oh, we may argue about It ;

Soldiers ? — we go where we’re order’d to go ;
Yes, and, if anyone ventures to doubt it.

Troth, he may take the next turn at Glencoe.

HODGE THE DRUMMER lf)6

At last our caunon below the town
Had argued Paid’s old ranters down.

Our liearts kick’d out and our tongues were dumb ;

We knew our taste of the luck had come. ^

" King's Oivn Rifles and Fusiliers,

You will advance and storm the hill ! ”

’Twas' the fiddles of Heav’n to our thirsty ears.

And we roar’d our ansiver, " Faith, we will ! ”
Citizens ? — oh, we may argue about it ;

Soldiers ? — we go where we’re order’d to go ;
Yes, and, if anyone ventures to doubt it,

Troth, he may take the next turn at Glencoe.

’Twas hail on the dropping forest then.

But the hail was death and the leaves were men.

A jerk of the arms and a face turn’d white.

And the boy at your side was out of sight.

’Twas climbing the devil’s naked stairs,

’Twas drinking hell from a loving cup !

Then all in a moment ’twas hounds and hares —

The Boers were doivn and the Jack was up.

Citizens ? — oh, we may argue about it ;

Soldiers ? — we go where we’re order’d to go ;
Yes, and, if anyone ventures to doubt it,

Troth, he may take the next turn at Glencoe.

Frederick Langbridge, “ Ballads and Degends ".

LXXXIl

HODGE THE DRUMMER

"They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined — just as found :

His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around ;

And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

106

THE BATTLE OF THE SEA OF JAPAN

Young Hodge the Drummer never knevr —
Fresh from his Wessex home —

The meaning of the broad Karoo,

The Bush, the dusty loam.

And Avhy uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

Yet portion of that imknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be ;

His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow up a Southern tree, i

And strange-eyed constellations reign |

His stars eternally. /

Thomai Hardy, " Poems o£ the Past and the R-resBus •.

Lxxxni 1

THE BATTLE OF THE SEA OF JAl^'AN
(27 AND 28 May, 1905)

Great past all strength of watchers to appmise, ,

The deed by faith and patient valour done j
When on Tsushima's waters sank the sun
And grim night's victory followed on the day’s ^
Before the Western nations’ wondering gaze

The East stood forth, and fought for life, an^ won.
Ship by ship foundered, gun by giant gim,

And a new Empire met the morning’s rays.

What that fierce anguish meant what tongue ca? ■ ■
Fate’s full desire what mortal power can nam“

Or read the secret of the word that came
Fire-winged from heaven through battle’s mons'^us hell ?
But this we know, that some vast idol fell.

And Nelson’s land is glad at Togo’s fame.

Qcorge Barlow, “ A Man’s Ven(®^Be”.

XI

SONGS OF SEA-FAUING

I'c Gentlemen of Emjland
Thai lii'o at home at case,

Ah, little do you think upon
The dangers of the sens.

MoTlyii Parl-er, “ Song

“ Fool," he answer'd, " Death is sure
To those that stay and those that roam,

But I will nevermore endure
To sit with empty hands at home."

Jtord Tennyson, '* TIio Snllor Boy

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass.

And The Deuce knows what sve may do —

But we're hack once more on the old trail, our own trail,
the out trail.

We’re down, hull down on the Long Trail — the trail that is
always new.

Jludyard Kijdiny, " L'lOnvoi

LXX-VIV

YR MARINERS OF ENGLAND

Ye mariners of Englmnl I
Tlial guard our native sens ;

Whose (lag lias hruveil a thousand years
The battle and the breeze.

107

198

YE MAIIINEIIS OF ENGLAND

Your glorious, standard launch again
To match another foe I

And sweep through the deep,
tVhile the stormy ^vinds do blow ;

While the battle rages loud and long.

And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave 1
For the deck it was their field of fame.

And Ocean was their grave ;

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell.

Your manly hearts shall glow.

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow ;

While the battle rages loud and long.

And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders firom her native oak.

She quells the floods below.

As they roar on the shore.

When the stormy winds do blow ;

When the battle rages loud and long.

And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific bum ;

Till danger’s troubled night depart.

And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean warriors 1
Our song and feast shall flow,

To the fame of your name.

When the storm has ceased to blow ;

IVTien the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceased to blow.

Thomas Campbell, “ Poetical Works

IJt.WV

THE CItEW OF THE LONG SEIlFEN'J’

(Fri^m ‘'Hie Saf/a of King Olaf")

Safe at anchor in Drontheim Ba}’

King Olafs fiect assembled la^'.

Ami, Blripctl with white and blue,
Downward fluttered sail and h.mner,

As aliglils the screaming Innner ;
laislily cheered, in their wild manner,

Titc f/ong Serpent’s crew.

Her forecastle man was Ulf the lied ;

Like a wolfs was his shaggj' head,

His teeth as large and white;

His beard, of gray and russet blended,

Round ns a swallow’s nest descended ;

As standnnl-bcarcr he defended
Olafs flag in the fight.

Near him Kolbiom had his place,

Like the Khig in garb and face,

So gidlant and so hale ;

Every cabin Iwy and vnrlet
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet ;

Like a river, frozen and star-lit,

Gleamed his coat of mail.

By the bulkhe.nd, tall and dark,

Stood Thrand Ibnne of 'riielcinark,

A figure gaunt and grand ;

On his hairy arm imprinted
Was an anchor, n7.urc-liiite<l ;

Like Thor’s hammer, huge and dinted
Was his brawny hand.

Einar Tamberskelvcr, Iwrc
To the winds his golden hair,

By the mainmast stood ;

200

W lA^rsij'OJVivxiiiiN i

5 , V . k ' --- ■

Graceful was his form, and slender.
And his eyes were deep and tender
As a woman’s in the splendour
Of her maidenhood.

In the fore-hold Biom and Bork
Watched the sailors at their work ;

Heavens I how they swore !

Thirty men they each commanded.
Iron-sinewed, homy-handed.

Shoulders broad, and chests expanded.
Tugging at the oar.

These, and many more like these,

With King Olaf sailed the seas,

Till the waters vast
Filled them with a vague devotion,

With the freedom and the motion,

With the roll and roar of ocean
And the sounding blast.

When they landed from the fleet.

How they roared tlnough Drontheim’s street,
Boisterous ns the gale I

How they laughed and stamped and pounded,
Till the tavern roof resounded.

And the host looked on astounded
As they drunk the ale 1

Never saw the Avild North Sea
Such a gallant company
Sail its billows blue 1

Never, while they' craised and quarrelled.

Old King Gorra, or Blue-Tooth Hnrald,

Owned a sliip so well apparelled.

Boasted such a crew 1

Bettry Wadticorlh Longfellow, " Poetical Works”.

THE SEA-KING’S GRAVE

201

LXXXVI

THE SEA-KING’S GRAVE
(Tenth Centuky)

High over the ^Yild sea-border, on the furthest .doYTis to
the West,

Is the green grave-mound of the Norseman, with the yew-
tree grove on its crest

And I heard in the winds his story, as they leapt up salt
irom the wave.

And tore at the creaking branches that grow from the sea-
king’s grave ;

Some son of the old-world Vikings, the wild sea- wandering
lords.

Who sailed in a snake-prowed galley, witli a terror of twenty
swords,

From the fiords of the sunless printer, they came on an icy
blast,

Till over the whole world’s sea-board the shadow of Odin
passed.

Till they sped to the inland waters and under the South-
land skies.

And stared on the puny princes with their blue victorious
eyes.

And they said he was old and royal, and a warrior all his
days.

But the king who had slain his brother bved yet in the
island ways ;

And he came from a hundred battles, ahd died in his last -
wld quest.

For he said, “ I will have my vengeance, and then I will
take my rest.”

He had passed on his homeward journey, and the king of
the isles was dead ;

He had dnmken the draught of triumph, and his cup was
the Isle-king's head ;

And he spoke of the song and feasting, and the gladness
of things to be.

And three days over the waters they rowed on a waveless
sea ;

202

THR SEA-KING’S GllAVE

Till a small cloml rose to the shorewnnl, and a gust broke
out of the cloud,

And the spray bent over the rowers, and the murmur of
winds was loud

With the voice of the far-off thunders, till the shuddering
air grew warm.

And the day was as dark ns at even, and the wild god
rode on the storm.

But the old man laughed in the thunder ns he set his casque
on his brow,

And he waved his sword in llic lightning and clung to the
painted prow.

And a shaft from the storm-god’s quiver flashed out from
the flame-flushed skies,

Kang down on bis war-worn harness and gleamed in his
fiery eyes,

And Ins mail and his crested helmet, and his hair, and liis
beard burned red ;

And they said, " It is Odin calls ; ” and he fell, and they
found him dead.

So here, in his war-guise armoured, they laid him down to
his rest.

In his casque with the reindeer antlers, and the long grey
beunl on his breast ;

His bier was the spoil of the islands, with a sail for a
shroud beneath,

And an oar of his blood-rcd galley, and his battle-brand in
the sheath ;

And they buried bis bow beside him, and planted the grove
of yew,

For the grave of a mighty archer, one tree for each of his
creAv j

Where the flowerless cliffs are sheerest, where the sea-binls
circle and swarm.

And the rocks are at war with the waters, with their jagged
grey teeth in the storm ;

And tile huge Atlantic billows sweep in, and the mists en-
close

The hill wiLli the gra.ss-grown mound where the Norseman's
yew-tree grows.

Sir Rennell Bodd, •' Poems in many Lands ".

THE SAILING OF THE SIFORD 203

LXXXVII

THE SAILING OF THE SWORD

Across the empty garden-beds,

When the Sword went out to sea,

I scarcely saw my sisters’ heads
Bow'd each beside a tree.

I could not see the castle leads,

When the Sword went emt to sea.

Alicia wore a scarlet gown,

Whe7i the Sword went out to sea,

But Ursula’s was russet brown :

For the mist we could not see
The scarlet roofs of the good town.

When the Sword went out to sea.

Green holly in Alicia’s hand,

When the Sword went out to sea ;

\yith sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand ;

O 1 yet alas for me !
l.did but bear a peel’d white wand,

' When the Sword went o^it to sea.

O, russet brown and scarlet bright,

When the Sword went out to sea,

My sisters wore ; I wore but white :

Red, brown, and white, are three j
Three damozels ; each hod a knight,

When the Sword went out to sea.

Sir Robert shouted loud, and said :

When the Stoord went out to sea,

Alicia, while I see thy head.

What shaU I bring- for thee ?

O, my sweet Lord, a ruby red :
tUhe Sword went out to sea.

Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down.

When the Sword went out to sea,

O, Ursula I while I see the to-wn,

What shall I bring for thee.^-
Dear Knight, bring back a falcon brown :

Ttie Sword went out to sea.

.siJl PATItfCK SPKN8

Pul my llolnml, do ivord lie sniil
Wiin ihc. Sword went onl to sen,

But only lurn’d nwtiy liis head t
A quick shriek came from me ;

Come hack, dear lord, to your while maid
The Sword went out to sen.

The tint 'lun liil the j;anlen-f>eils

ttltcn the. Sword came Inch from sea •
lleneath an apple-tree our heads
Strclcli’d Out lowaitl the sen ;

Grey gleam’d the thirsty castle- lends,

When ihc Strord came back from sea.

Lord Rohcrl brought a ruby re<l,

Ihc Sword came hack from sea
lie kiss’d Alicia on the head:

I am come back to thee ;

Tis time, sweet love, timt we were wei’

Kow the Sword is bach from sea ! t

Sir Miles lie bore a falcon brown,

]p7(cn the Sword came back from sea ;

His arms went round tall Ursula’s gown :

WHint joy, O love, hut thee?

Let us he wed in the gooil town,

Now the Sword is back from sea f

My heart grew sick, no more afraid, t
When the Sn'ord came back from dea ;
Upon the deck a tall wliile maid /

Sat on Lord Roland’s knee ; /

His chin was press’d upon her head,

TT7(e« the Sword came back from sea

U'illiam Morris, " The Defence of GuDneverc,
nud Olhor Poems

I.XXXVIII

SIR PATRICK SPENS
(1281 ?)

TJic King sits in Dunfermline town.

Drinking the bhide-red wine.

whare will 1 get a skeely skipper
To sail tliis new ship of mine ? ’

Sm PATRICK SPENS 205

O up find spake an eldem knight^

Sat at the King’s right knee —

“ Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
Tliat ever sail'd the sea ? ”

Our king has ^vTitten a braid letter,

And sealed it with his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,

Was walking on the strand.

“To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem ;

The king's daughter of Noroway,

’Tis thou maun bring her hamc.’’

The first word that Sir Patrick rend,

Sae loud, loud laughed he ;

The neist word that Sir Patrick read.

The tear blinded his e'c.

“ 0 wha is this has done this deed,

And tauld the king o' me.

To send us out, at tins time of the year,

To sail upon the sea ?

“ Be it wind, be it wect, be it hail, he it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem ;

Tlie king’s daughter of Noroway,

’Tis we must fetch her hame,"

They hoj’sed their sails on Monenday mom,

Wi’ a’ the haste they may ;

And they liae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.

They Imdna been a week, a week
In Noroway but twae.

When that the lords o’ Noroway
Began aloud to say —

" Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our king’s goud,

And a’ our queenis fee.”

“ Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud I
Fu’ loud I hear ye lie I

200

SIR PATRICK SPEKS

" For I brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me,

And I brought a hnlf-foa’ o’ gude red goud.

Out o’er the sea wi’ me.

“ Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a’ I
Our gude ship sails the mom.”

“ Now ever alake, my master dear,

I fear a deadly storm !

“ I saw the new moon, late yestreen,

Wi’ the auld moon in her arm ;

And if we gang to sea, master,

I fear we’ll come to' harm.”

They hadna sail’d a league, a league,

A league but barely three.

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud.
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,

It was sic a deadly storm ;

And the waves cam o’er the broken ship.

Till a’ her sides were tom.

” O where will I get a gude sailor
To take my helm in hand.

Till I get up to the tall top-mast,

To see if I can spy land ? ”

“ O here am I a sailor gude,

To take the helm in hand.

Till ye get up to the tall top-mast ;

But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land,”

He hadna gane a step, a step,

A step but barely ane,

When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship.

And the salt sea it came in.

^ Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken claith.

Another o’ the twine.

And wap them into our ship’s side.

And let na the sea come in.”

SIR PATRICK SPENS 207

They fetch'd a web o* the silken claith,

Aikotber o’ the twine.

And they wapped them round that gnde ship,

But still the sea came in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their milk-white hands !

But lang ere a' the play was o’er
'They wat their gowden bands.

O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heel'd shoon 1

But Inng ere a' the play was play'd
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather-bed
That fluttered on the faem,

And mony was the gude lord’s son
That never mair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white,

The maidens tore their hair,

A' for the sake of their true loves.

For them they’ll see na mair.

O lang, laug may the ladyes sit,

Wi’ their fans into their hand,

Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand 1

And lang, lang may the maidens sit,

Wi' the good kaims in their hair,

A waiting for their ain dear loves !

For them they’ll see na mair.

O forty miles off Aberdour,

'Tis fifty fathoms deep.

And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,

Wi’ tlie Scots lords at his feet.

Old Ballad, “Border Ballads”.

208

THE LAST BDCCANIER

UlXXIX

THE LAST BUCCANIER

(Eaulv in the Eighteenth Centuhy)

Oh England is a pleasant place for them that’s rich and high.
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I ;

And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again
As the pleasant isle of AvAs, beside the Spanish main.

There were forty craft in AvAs that were both swift and
stout.

All furnished well with small-arms and cannons round
about ;

And a thousand men in AvAs made laws so fair and free
To choose their gallant captains and obey them loyally.

Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of
plate and gold,

^Vllich he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of
old ;

Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts ns hard as
stone.

Who flog men, and keel-haul them, and starve them to the
bone.

Oh the palms grew high in AvAs, and ftruts that shone"
like gold.

And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold ;
And the negro maids to AvAs from bondage fast did flee,
'To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweepiug in from sea.

Oh sweet it was in AvAs to hear the landward breeze,
A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees.

With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the
roar

Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched
the shore.

But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be.

So the King’s ships sailed on AvAs, and quite put down
were we.

AH day we fought bke bulldogs, but they burst the booms
at night ;

And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.

'200

THE rxyss OF THE ROYAL GEORGE

Nine days I floated slandng, and a negro lass beside,

Till, for all I tried to clieer her, tbe poor young creature
died ;

But, as 1 lay n-gasping, n Bristol sail came b}',

And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die.

And now I’m old, and going — I’m sure ! can’t tell where ;
One comfort is, this xrorld’s so hard, I can’t be worse off
there ;

If I might but be n sea-tlovc, I'd fly across the main
To tlie pleasant Isle of Ards, to look at it once again,

Charles Kingsley, “ Pooma

xc

THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE
(28 Junk, 1782)

Toll for the brave !

The brave that are no more 1 .

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore !

Eight himdred of the brave.

Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset ;

Dorvn went tbe lioydl George
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave 1

Brave Kcmpenfclt is gone.

His last sea-fight is fought,

His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle,

No tempest gave the shock ;

She sprang no fatal leak.

She ran upon no rock.

210

A ATET SHEET AND A FLOATING SEA

H\s svrotd was in its sheath,

His fingers held the pen,

AA'hen Kempenfell went down,

AA''ith twice four hundred men.

AA'^eigh the vessel up.

Once dreaded by our foes 1

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,

Full charged with England’s thunder.

And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o’er ;

And he and his eight hundred
Shall plough the wave no more.

Wil/iam Cowjter, " Poetical AVorks'tt.

.\ci

A AVET SHEET AND A FLOATING SEA

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail.

And bends the gallant mast ;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
AATiile, like the eagle free.

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

0 for a soft and gentle wind 1

1 heard a fair one cry ;

But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high.

The white waves heaving high, my boys, ^
The good ship tight and free —

The world of waters is our home,

And mer^y men are we.

TOM BO^rLING

2n

There's lempesL in yon hornid moon.

And lightning in yon cloud ;

And linrk the music, mariners,

The wind is piping loud ;

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashing free —

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham, “Poems and Songs

xcit

TOM BOWLING

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew ;

No more he’ll hear the tempest howling,

For Death has broach’d him to.

His form was of the manliest beauty.

His heart was kind and soft ;

Faithful, below, he did I»is duty.

But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word de|)arted.

His virtues were so nire ;

His friends were many and true-hearted.

His Poll was kind and fair;

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly ;

All, many's the time and oft I

But mirth is turned to melancholy.

For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet .shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
Wien He who all commands

Shall give, to call life’s crew together.

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,
In vain Tom’s life has doffed ;

For, though his body’s imdcr liatches.

His soul is gone aloft.

Oharlts Dibdin, " Tho Oddities

212

POOR JACK

XCIII

POOR JACK

Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do you see,

’Bout danger, and fear, and the bke ;

A tight'Water boat and good sea-room give me,

And it ant to a little PR str&e. •

Though the tempest top-gallant-mast smack smooth shoiUU
smite.

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight.
And under reefed foresail we’U scud :

Avast I nor don’t think me a milksop so soft,

To he taken for trifles aback ;

For they say there’s a providence sits up aloft.

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack 1

1 heard our good chaplain palaver one day,

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ;

And, my timbers I what lingo he’d coil and belay ;

Why, ’twas just aU as one as High Dutch ;

For he said how a sparrow can’t founder, d’ye see.

Without orders that come down below ;

And many fine things that proved clearly to me
That providence takes us in tow ;

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e’er so oft
Take the top-^Us of sailors aback,

There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

I said to our Poll — for, d’ye see, she would ciy —

When last we weighed anchor for sea.

What argufies snivelling and piping your eye ?

_ Why, what a rare fool you must be 1
Can’t you see the world’s wide, and there’s room for us i
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

Yon never will hear of me more.

What then ? All’s a hazard : come, don’t be so soft ;

Perhaps 1 may laughing come back ;

Fo^ d ye see, there’s a cherub sits smiling aloft.

To keep watcb for the life of poor Ja^l

. THE CArrAIN STOOD ON THE CARKONADE 213

D’ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch.

From the moment the anchor’s a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and ends.
Nought’s a trouble from duty that springs.

For my heart is my Poll’s, and my rhino’s my friend’s ;

, And as for my life, ’tis the King’s.

Even when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft.

As for grief to be taken aback.

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack 1

Charles Dibdin, "The Oddities”.

.xciv

THE CAPTAIN STOOD ON THE CARRONADE

The Captain stood on the carronade — First lieutenant,
says he.

Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me ;
[ haven’t the gift of the gab, my sons — because I’m bred
to the sea ;

That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we.

Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
I’ve fought ’gainst every odds — but I’ve gained the
victory.

That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don’t take she,
Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture we ;

[ haven’t the gift of the gab, my boys : so each man to his
gun;

[f she’s not mine in half an hour. I’ll flog each mother’s son.

Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sen,
I've fought ’gainst every odds — and I’ve gained the
victory.

iVe fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had
enough ;

i little thought, said he, that your men were of such stufi" ;

iHr; ftAIMiH*.-* (.'ONJ^OI.ATjON

1'lif rn)iV(\‘m Uic FTCHcUmanV swonl, n kw Iww nimtc .

t*’ 5 v t • 1

I h.ivCiFt tlic pifl of tho patt, nunisiciir, but p'llilc I wisti

to W.

Odrt'^ liMnmcr amt k*ng^, kmp ns I've been to sm,
I've foiipbt 'pninst even- otitis— and I've pninctl the
victoi^'.

Our Captain smt for all of us; my merry tnen, said be,

I bnvctt't Uic pi ft of the pnb, wy Intis, but yet I thankful Ite :
You’ve done your duly Jiandsoinely, each man stood to bis
pun ;

If you hadn’t, you villains, ns sure ns day, I’d Imve floppetl
each mother’s son.

Odds Ik)1>s, hammer nml lonps, as loop ns I’m nt the sea,
I'll fight 'gainst every otlds — nnd I'll gain the victory.

Caoiain Mnrri/nt, *' SnarloyyoT?

Xta’

Tlllii .SAILOR’S CONSOLATION

One iiiglit came on n hurricane.

The sen was inoontnins rollinp,

When Barney Unntliiic tnni'd his quid,
And said to Hilly Bowling :

“ A stninp nor’-wester's blowing, Bill ;

Hark ! don’t ye henr it roar now ?
Lonl help ’em, how 1 pities nil
Unhapjiy folks on shore now 1

“ Fool-hanly chaps who live in towns.
What danger they are nil in,

And now lie quaking in their beds,

For fear the roof shall fall in 1
Poor cr mres, how they envies us.

And dshes. I've a notion,

For our good luck, in such a storm
To be upon the ocean !

* THE SEA 21fi

“ Aud as for them who're out all day,

Ou business from their houses.

And late at night are coming home.

To cheer their babes and spouses ;

While you and I, Bill, on the deck
Are comfortably lying,

My eyes ! what tiles and chimney-pots
About their heads are flying 1

“ And very often have wc heard
How men arc killed and undone.

By overturns of carriages,

By thieves, and fires in ILiondon.

We know what risks all landsmen run.

From noblemen to tailors ;

Then, Bill, let us thank Providence
That you and I are sailors.”

Charles Dibdin (?)

xcvi

THE SEA

Tlie sea, thc sca, the open sen.

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ;

Without a mark, without a bound.

It runneth the earth's wide regions round.

It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies, i
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I’m on the sea, Tm on the sen,

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above and the blue below
And silence wheresoe’er I go.

If a storm should come and awake the deep.
What matter 1 I shall ride and sleep.

I love, O how I love I to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,

When every mad wave droivns the moon,

Ahd whistles aloft his tempest tune :

And tells how gocth the world below.

And- why the south-west blasts do blow.

21G

THE CAI'TAIN

I never wns on the dull, tmne shore,

Bui 1 loved the f^cnl sen more nnd more,
And bnckwnrtls flew to her Irillowy brenst,
Like n bird Ihntsccketh its mother’s nest —
And a mother she wns nnd is to me,

For 1 was bom on the open sen.

The waves were white, nnd red the morn.

In the noisy hour when I was bom ;

The rvlinle it whistled, the porpoise rolled.
And the dolphins baretl their backs of poUl,
And never was heard sueh an outcry wild,

As welcomed to life the ocean child.

I have lived since then in calm and strife.
Full fifty summers a rover’s life.

With wealth to spend and a power to range.
But never have sought nor sighed for change.
And Death, wherever he come to me,

Sliall come on the wild, unbounded sea.

Bnjan Wnllcr Procter {Barry CorntealV),

“ 'EuEbsIn 'PocrcB”.

xcvii

THE CAITAIN

.\ I.EOEND OF THE S.WY

H F, that only rales by terror
Doeth grievous wrong.

Deep as Hell I count his error.

Let him hear my song.

Brave the Captain was : the seamen
Made a gallant crew.

Gallant sons of English freemen.

Sailors bold .and true.

But they hated his oppression.

Stem he was nnd rash ;

So for every light transgression
Doom'd them to tlie lash.

Day by day more harsh nnd cruel
Seem'd the Captain’s mood.

THE CAPTAIN

Secret ■«Tnth like smother’d fuel
Burnt in each man’s. blood.

Yet he hoped to purchase glory,

Hoped to make the name

Of his vessel great in story,

Wheresoe’er he came.

So they jmst by capes and islands,

Many a harbour-mouth,

Sailing under palmy highlands
Far ■within the South.

On a day -when they -were going
O’er the lone expanse,

In the north, her canvas flowing,

Rose a ship of France.

Then the Captain’s colour heighten’d,
Joyful came his speech:

But a cloudy gladness lighten’d
In the eyes of each.

“ Chase,” he said : the ship fle'w forward.
And the ^vind did blow ;

StateW, lightly, -went she Norwnrd,

Till she near’d the foe. .

Then they look’d at him they hated,

Had what they desired :

Mute with folded arms they waited —

Not a gun was fired.

But they heard the foemnn’s thunder
Roaring out their doom ;

All the air was tom in sunder.

Crashing went the boom.

Spars were splinter’d, decks were shatter’d.
Bullets fell like rain ;

Over mast and deck were scatter’d
Blood and brains of men.

Spars were splinter’d ; decks were broken :
Every mother’s son —

Down they dropt — no word was spoken —
Each beside his gun.

On the decks as they were lying.

Were their faces grim.

218

THE ADMIRAL’S GHOST

In their blood, as they lay dying,

Did they smile on him.

Those, in -whom he had reliance
For his noble name.

With one smile of still defiance
Sold him unto shame.

Shame and wrath his heart confounded,

Pale he turn’d and red,

Till himself was deadly wounded.

Falling on the dead.

Dismal error ! fearful slaughter !

Years have wander’d by.

Side by side beneath the water
Crew and Captain lie ;

There the sunlit ocean tosses
O’er them mouldering.

And the lonely seabird crosses
With one waft of the wing.

Lord Tennyson, “ Poetical Wotka

XCVJII

THE ADMIRAL’S GHOST

I tell you a tale to-night
Which a seaman told to me.

With eyes that gleamed in the lanthom light
And a voice as low ns the sea.

You could almost hear the stars
Twinkling up in the sky.

And the old wind woke and moaned in the spars
And the same old waves went by.

Singing the same old song
As ages and ages ago.

While fie froze my blood in that deep-sea night
With the things that he seemed to know.

A bare foot pattered on deck ;

Ropes creaked ; then — all grew still.

And he pointed his finger straight in my face
And growled, as a sea-dog will.

. THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST

“ Do 'ee know who Nelson was ?

That pore little shrivelled form
With the patch on his eye and the pinned-up sleeve
And a soul like a North Sea storm ?

“ Ask of the Devonshire men 1
They know, and they'll tell you true ;

He wasn’t the pore little chawed-up chap
That Hardy thought he knew.

“ He wasn’t the man you think 1
His patch was a dem disguise I
For he knew that they’d find him out, d’you see.

If they looked him in both his eyes.

" He was bvice as big as he seemed ;

But his clothes were cunningly made.

He’d both of his hairy arms all right !

'The sleeve was a trick of the trade.

‘'You’ve heard of sperrits, no doubt ;

Well, there’s more in the matter than that !

But he wasn’t the patch and he wasn’t the sleeve,
And he wasn’t the laced cocked-hat.

“ Nelson was jnst — a ghost /

You may laugh ! But the Devonshire men
They knew that he’d come when England called.
And they know that he’ll come again.

“ I’ll tell you the way it was

(For none of the landsmen know),

And to tell it you right, you must go a-stam
Two hundred years or so,

•» •» * •* ♦ . * -
“ The waves were lapping and slapping
The same as they are to-day ;

And Drake lay dying aboard his ship
In Nombre Dios Bay.

“ The scent of the foreign flowers
Came floating all around ;

' But I’d give my soul for the smell o' the pitch,’

Says he, ‘ in Plymouth Sound.

220

THE ADMIRAL’S GHOST

“ ‘ Wlial slmll I do,’ lie snys,

‘ When the Riins begin lo roar,

An’ England wants me, and me not there
To shatter ‘er foes once more ? '

“ (You’ve licnrd Avhat he said, maybe,

But I’ll mark you the p’inls again ;

For I want you to box your compass right
And get my story plain.)

“ ‘ You must take my drum,’ he says,

‘ To the old sea-wall at home ;

And if ever you strike that drum,’ lie says,

' Why, strike me blind. I’ll come 1

“ • If England needs me, dead
Or living, I'll rise that day !

I’ll rise from the darkness under tlic sea
Ten thousand miles away.’

“ That’s what he said ; and he died ;

An' his pirates, listenin’ roim’,

With their crimson doublets and jewelled swords
That (lashed as the sun went down —

“ They sewed him up in his shroud
With a round-shot top and toe,

To sink him under the salt sharp sea
Where all good seamen go.

“ They lowered him down in the deep.

And there in the sunset light,

They boomed a broadside over his grave
As meanin’ to say ‘ Good-night '.

“They sailed away in the dark
To the dear little isle they knew ;

And they hung his dnim by the old sea-wall
The same as he told them to. 'V

f- * * * ^

“ Two hundred years went by,

And the guns began to roar,

And England was fighting hard for her life.

As ever she fought of yore.

N.S

OLD. IRONSIDES

221

“ ' It’s ouly my dead that count,’

She said, as she says to-day ;

' It isn’t the ships and it isn’t the guns
’UU sweep Trafalgar’s Bay.’

“ D’you guess who Nelson was ?

You may laugh, but it's true as true !

There was more in that pore little chawed-iip chap
Than ever his best friend knew.

“ The foe was creepin’ close.

In the dark, to our white-cliffed isle ;

They were ready to leap at England's throat,

When — O, you may smile, you may smile ;

“ But — ask of the Devonshire men ;

For they heard in the dead of night

The roll of a drum, and they saw hivi pass
On a ship all shining Avhite.

“ He stretched out his dead cold face
And he sailed in the grand old way !

The fishes had taken an eye and an arm
But — he swept Trafalgar’s Ba 3 ^

“Nelson — was Francis Drake I
O, what matters the uniform,

Or K ' itch on your eye or your pinned-up sleeve,

• ll, - soul’s like a North Sea storm ? ’’

Alfred Noyes, “ Collected Poems,” Vol. II.

XCIX

OLD IRONSIDES
(I8.S0)

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down 1
Long has it waved on high.

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky ;

TilK WRECK or THE

lk‘»CAtli it ritnK lh<* IwUlc tliout,

Aiul Iu»r,t the cannons mnr ;

The meteor of the ocenn nir

Slmll sweep the e\Dni\s t'o more .

Her deck, once rod vilh heroes’ hlocui,

AVlicre kncU the vftnquishcjt foe,

When whids wore hnrryh)}; o er the tl i
And waves were white I>clow,

No more Rhal! fed the victor s trtyid,

Or know Uie. conquered knee ; — •

'rile harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea !

O heller that her shattered hulk
Should sink hcncalh the wave ;

Her thunders shook the mighty deep.

And Iherc should he her grave ;

Nall to the mast her holy flag,

Set cverj" threadhare sail,

And give her to the god of storms.

The lightning and the gale 1

Oliver hViHtell Ilolinet, •• Poetical Works".

c

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

(15, l6 Decesidcu, 18S9)

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the vrintiy’ sea ;

And the skipper had taken liis little daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes ns the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day.

And her bosom white as tlie hawthorn buds.
That ope in the month of May.

228

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

The skipper he stood beside the helnij
His pipe was in his mouth.

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow.
The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailbr.

Had sailed the Spanish Main,

“ I pray thee, put into yonder port,

For I fear a hurricane,

“ Last night the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see I ’’

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe.

And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wnd,

A gale from the north-east ;

The snow feU hissing in the brine.

And the biUows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain
The vessel in its strength ;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable’s length.

“ Come hither 1 come hither I my little daughter.
And do not tremble so.

For I am weather the roughest gale.

That ever wind did blow.”

He wrapped her warm in his seaman’s coat
Against the stinging blast ;

He cut a rope from a broken spar.

And bound her to the mast.

“ O father 1 I hear the church bells ring,

O say what may it be ? ”

“ 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! ” —

And he steered for the open sea.

“ O father I I hear the sound of guns,

O say what may it be ? ”

" Some ship in distress that cannot live
In such an angrj' sea ! ”

224

THK WUECK OF THE HESPERUS

" O father! I see n gleaniitig liglil,

O saj’ wliat rany it !)e ? "

But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the lielm, all slid' and stark,

With iiis face turned to the skies,

Tiie lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That sav6d she might be ;

And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave.
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and P h,
Through the whistling sleet and snow.

Like a sheeted ghost, tlie vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman’s Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land ;

It was the sound of the trampling surf.

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right bcuaith her hows.

She drifted a dreary wreck.

And a whooping billow swept the erew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft ns carded wool,

But tlie cruel rocks they gored her sides
Like the horns of on angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

With the masts went by the hoard ;

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank.

Hoi hoi the breakers roared 1

At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast.

To see the form of a maiden fair,

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

THE “BIRKENHEAD”

226 ■

The -alt sea was frozen on her breast.

The salt tears in her eyes ;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed.

On the biUows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow !

Christ save us all fiom a death like this,

/ Dn the reef of Norman’s Woe I

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “ Poetical Works”.

^ „ THE “BIRKENHEAD”

A TALE FOR F.NGLISHMEN

(26 Feb., 1852)

'.1 was silence. All was sleep. Night lay pillowed on
the Deep,

eath cold stars that watched unwinking in a cloudless sky,
nd these whispered to the Wave, " Tell us stories of the
brave.

^e would see this m'ght thy pageant, ' How the English
, die’.” ,

hen the Ocean called on Death, in his silent watch be-
neath.

Arm Thyself for sudden slaughter. I will be to thee for
aid ;

oy the’stars that rule this night would behold thee ride
iji in might

Ij my battlesteed of terror o'er the souls of men afraid.”

rom his stillness Death upstirred at the summons that he
r heard,

■;hoing back his solemn answer to the mandate of the
i main,

' hear and I obey. Who are these thou would’st dis-
X .may ? ’’

English men,” boomed slow the thunder of the sullen
, Deeplagain.

' 16 /

2CG TIIK •• JHKKKNniv.U) '

Tiiexv Death n»<(wtrc<U “Thou hn*-loft Ixinic itiy I wl lie-flu -
ftlnfl,

'I'lll mi ll's voices, shrill with terror, sliiltil the wnilitij; <
the iriml ;

lliil the hearts of Ihif’hsh men nrt- (w lions fn their ilcii.

I’liough ihoii crush them ihnvn to silriicc, ncitlu r Ihoti ni
I shall hind ; /

“ And the stars that look adown shall Wmkl oiirx^
oVrthromi, f>

ncarinj; witness limt onr maslcri are ihi-sc men of Ilrl,

race. i

Thoiiph thy hilioiva overflow till their linihs are slilR
lielow ;

Theirs the ttlory, theirs llic triumph, wlio shall fi;;ht ns Cm
to face." <

Then the sullen Oecnn played round the nmlnidi I)ca

had laid,

Ilockiiif' soft the {;allanl r-issel where she rmle it» tn-acht
out tide, !

I’iH she toiichal the hidden rook, and nij;ht echoed to fl
shock

Of her tviidinj;, whilst the waters stoniicd tlie hreaches
her side.

“ A srreck ! A nTcck 1 A ivrerk 1 " Death's that war-cr
hut on deck

No man cried. The cajitain’s voice alone pave onions
Ids crew ; ■■

'Whilst, like ants, out of the hold streamed young In(V< ni
s’ctcmns bold,

Each beholding Death before him ns n foeman that ,
knew. I

Ever}’ seaman toiled with will, hut the Im-atswain's pij
came shrill,

" Sixty men to man the pnmps," And in a moment for
they stood —

Sixty soldiers stark and strong marched tliat shnlteri
deck along

To give battle such ns heroes seldom gave on field of bloo

THE “ BIRKENHEAD ”

227

For these sixt}', for the crew, there is somewhat set to do,

And each coinrad' ’gainst his fellow striveth nobly in the
race ; I

But four hundred red-coats stand to their ranlts on cither
hand,

Watching Death draw nearer, nearer, whilst they eye him
face to face.

om the long, low line of coast, half a league away at
' most,

: ifc holds out a hand and beckons ; “ Safe is -he that hither

. ' flies.

■ Tow your chance is, while she floats. For your lives, men,
sei7.e the boats ! "

■ iut a coward is not found there, and no craven’s voice
replies.

,'ut those bouts, ’tis shame to see, were but five, and are
but three.

Iclpless women, little children, ore enough to fill them all.

. ih ! the little ones and wives by the stronger stalwart
lives

.Are girt round with living breastplates when 'tis need that
Britons fall,

“iSo the feebler lives go free o’er the treacherous smiling
sea,

' And the hearts of all arc lightened that their toil is not in
vain,

lStri\ing till the fierce onrush, when the waters overgush

■A'd last fragment of denial, and the great ship parts in

Oi' bvain.

F”hen the one half settles down. Easier so perchance to
drown.

Than to live with these tliat linger 'neath the hollow eyes
of Death.

' Crie.s a leader, “All is o’er ; there is naught we may do
more ;

But ’tis each man’s riglit to strive alone, then strive whilst
ye have breath.